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a) 






Harvard College 
Library 




FROM THE BEQUEST OF 

SAMUEL SHAPLEIGH 

CLASS OF 1789 

LxBBASiAN or Hakvasd Colleos 
1793-1800 




* .* 



&V0 ffinglt»lft mttuan. 




A SELECTION OF 

PLAYS 

FROM THE OLD ENGLISH DRAMATISTS. 



VOLUME II. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. OR THE QUEEN'S MASQUE. 

ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

THE LADY»S PRIVILEGE. 



LONDON : 
PRINTED FOR HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. 

5, WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL ; 

AND ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH, 



MDCCCXXV. 






*>4^ 






¥^^f 



(f^L 



(«jr3 o, A\vvl 



*^ v^X^Jlsji < I C 



V 



HA >K, 
UNIV. .^SITY 
LIBRARY 



LONDON: 

Printed by D. & Maurioe, Fcndiurdi Street* 



v\/- 



I 



o 



LOVE'S MISTRESS; 



OR 



THE QUEEN*8 MASQUE. 



WRITTEN BY THOMAS HEYWOOD. 



LONDON: 



PRINTED FOR CHARLES BALDWYN, NE WGATE-STREET. 



MDCCCXXIV. 



LONDON : 

Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch-street. 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. 



If we were to estimate man's life by the number and 
extent of his works> we should say, that Thomas Heywood 
had not beea gathered to his fathers, until he had arrived 
at a ripe old a^e ; but whether, according to the ordinary 
mode of calculating human existence, he lived to any great 
length of days, the few materials within our reach do 
not enable us to ascertain. The time of his birth and 
death are alike unknown : the place of the first may be 
collected from his works, but as to the last we are unable 
to trace him to his grave. We learn from a funeral elegy, 
entitled. On the Death of Sir George Saint-Poole, of Lin- 
colnshire, my Countryman, that he was a native of that 
county ; and from the dedication of Cartwright's edition of 
his Apology for Actors, that he was a Fellow of Peter- 
House, Cambridge. Heywood himself, in the work just 
referred to, speaks of the " time of his residence" in that 
University. From the manner in which he alludes to his 
family, it may be inferred, that it held a respectable rank in 
society: in the Dedication of The English Traveller, 
addressed to Sir Henry Appleton, he speaks to that gentle- 
man of the ** alternate love and those frequent courtesies 
which interchangeably passed between yourself and that 
good old gentleman, mine uncle (Master Edmund Hey- 



IV THOMAS HEYWOOD. 

wood), whom you pleased to grace by the title of father ;" 
and> in the same place, he alludes to ** my countryman. 
Sir William Elvish, whom, for his unmerited love, many 
ways extended to me, I much honour.'' 

From the following memorandum in Henslowe's MS. 
Book, quoted by Malone, we find that Heywood had 
written for the stage so early as 1696. "October H, 1596, 
Lent unto them (the Lord Admiral's servants) for Hawode's 
booke XXX *." and that, in 159S, he was a "hireling, by 
which name all the players, who were not sharers, were 
denominated." The memorandum of hiring is in these 
words: "Memorandum, that this 25th of March, 1698, 
Thomas Heywood* came and hired himself with me as a 
covenanted servant for two years, by the receiving of two 
single pence, according to the statute of Winchester, and 
to begin at the day above written, and not to play any 
where public about London, not while these two years be 
expired, but in my house. If he do, then he doth forfeit 
unto me, by the receiving of the two pence, forty pounds ; 
and witness Anthony Munday, &c." 

From the same authority we learn, that in December in 
this year, he wrote a piece called ff^ar without Blows, 
and Love without Suit f and in the February following 
another, entitled Joan as good as my Lady. This agrees 
with what Heywood says in the Dedication prefixed to 
The Four Prentices of London, which was published in 
1616, that it was " written many years since, in my infancy 
of judgment, in this kind of poetry, and my first practice ; 
yet, understanding (by what means I know not) it was in 
these more exquisite and refined times, to come to the 

* Spelt Hawoode. 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. V 

press iu such a forwardness ere it came to my knowledge^ 
that it was past prevention, and then knowing withal that 
it came short of that accurateness both in plot and style, 
that these more censorious days, with greater curiosity ac- 
qnire, I must thus e^ccuse — that as plays were then, some 
fifteen or sixteen years ago, it was in the fashion." In the 
-Apology for Actor 8 1 which was published in 1612, he 
describes himself, even then, as " being the youngest and 
wakest of the nest wherein he was hatched :" in another 
place he says, ''it becomes my juniority to be pupilled 
myself rather than to instruct others ;" and he apologeti- 
cally remarks, with great and characteristic modesty, that 
he is loth ** to soar this pitch before others of the same 
brood, more fledge, and of better wing than myself; but 
though they whom more especially this task concerns, both 
for their ability in writing, and sufficiency in judgment (as 
their work8 generally witness to the world) are content to 
overslip so necessary a subject, and have left it as to me 
the most unworthy, I thought it better to stammer out my 
mind than not to speak at all ; to scribble down a mark in 
the stead of writing a name, and to stumble on the way 
rather than to stand still, and not to proceed on so neces- 
sary a journey.** 

Hey wood " had more traffic with the stage'* than any of 
his contemporaries, and, indeed, than any man who ever 
lived, if we except the Spanish author. Lope de Vega : he 
must, indeed, have been a man of prodigious industry, 
having, besides numerous other works, and attending to 
his business of an actor, had either '' an entire hand, or at 
least a main finger,*' in 220 plays.* 

• Preface to the IBx^^Mi Traveller. 



VI THOMAS HEYWOOD. 

To give variety to such a numerous offspring, he had 
recourse, as he informs us, in the Prologue to The Royal 
King and Loyal Subject, to all possible sources of infor- 
mation. 

** To give content to this most curious age« 

The gods themselves we've brought down to the stage, 

And figur'd them in planets ; made even hell 

Deliver up the furies, by no spell, 

(Saving the muse's rapture :) further, we 

Have trafficked by their help ; no history 

We have left unrifled ; our pens have been dipt 

As well in opening each hid manuscript. 

As tracks more vulgar, whether rea4, or sung 

In our domestic, or more foreign tongue : 

Of fairy elves, nymphs of the sea and land. 

The lawns, the groves, no niunber can be scann'd 

Which we have not given feet to ; nay, 'tis known 

That when our chronicles have barren grown 

Of story, we have all invention stretch'd, 

Div'd low as to the centre, and then reach'd 

Unto the primum m'ibile above : 

Nor 'scap'd things intermediate." » * * 

Of this great number of plays, no more than twenty- 
three have come down to us. The author himself accounts 
for this circumstance in various parts of his works. '' My 
pen," says he, in the Apology, " hath seldom appeared in 
press till now ; I have been ever too jealous of mine own 
weakness, willingly to thrust into the press : nor had I at 
this time, but that a kind of necessity enjoined me to so 
sudden a business." '' It hath been no custom in me," he 
remarks, ** of all other men, to commit my plays to the 
press ; the reason, though some may attribute to my own 
insufficiency, I had rather subscribe in that to their severe 
censure, than, by seeking to avoid the imputation of weak- 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. VU 

0688, to incur greater suspicion of honesty; for, though 
some have used a double sale of their labours, first to the 
stage, and after to the press, for my own part, I here pro- 
claim myself ever faithful in the first, and never guilty of 
the last/'* In the preface to The English Traveller, he 
assigns additional reasons for his plays not being printed. 
'* True it is," says he, " that my plays are not exposed 
unto the world in volumes, to bear the title of works, as 
others; one reason is, that many of them, by shifting and 
change of companies, have been negligently lost; others 
of them are still retained in the hands of some actors, who 
think it against their peculiar profit to have them come in 
print ; and a third, that it never was any great ambition in 
me to be in this kind voluminously read.'' 

As a dramatist, Heywood is extremely unequal. Posses- 
sing great power of moving the affections, he frequently 
falls below mediocrity ; his plays are occasionally deformed 
by low buffoonery ; and, now and then, tainted with in- 
decency. His notion of what constituted comedy will, 
in a great measure, account for his sometimes substituting 
buffoonery and low jests, for a nice discrimination and just 
delineation of character. " A comedy," he observes, " is 
pleasantly contrived, with merry accidents, and intermixed 
with apt and witty jests, to present before the prince, at 
certain times of solemnity, or else merrily fitted to the 
stage. And what is then the subject of this harmless 
mirth? either in the shape of a clown, to shew others 
their slovenly and imhandsome behaviour," &c. But the 
inequality to which we have alluded, may be more properly 
attributed to the rapidity with which he must have written 

* Preface to The Rape of Lucreee. 



• •• 



VIU THOMAS HEYWOOD. 

his dramas ; probably, spurred on to their precocious pro- 
duction by necessity ; for, according to the author quoted 
by Langbaine, he was not so rich in purse as in brain. 

• • • " Heywood sage. 
The apologetic Atlas of the stage ; 
Well of the golden age he could entreat. 
But little of the metal he could get" 

This author has, however, left a few plays behind him, 
which are not only free from the objections before men- 
tioned, but arrive at a high degree of perfection in dra- 
matic art; such as — A Woman killed with Kindness, — Tlie 
English Traveller, — A Challenge for Beauty, — The Royal 
King and Loyal Subject, — and. Fortune by Land and Sea. 
In the next grade we may place, — Love's Mistress, — The 
Rape of Lucrece, — and The Lancashire Witches. The 
rest of his plays, which will be found in the subjoined list, 
are of a very inferior order. 

List of Hey wood's Plays now known : — 

1 & 2. Edward IV. Historical Play. 2 Parts. B. L. 4to. no date, and 1626. 
3 & 4. If you Know not me, you Know Nobody. Hist. Play, 2 Parts. 4to. 

1605—1606, and 1633. 
6. Fair Maid of the Exchange, Com. 4ta 1607—1637. 

6. The Ri^ of Lucrece. Trag. 4to. 1608—1609—1616—1630—1638. 

7. Golden Age. Hist. Play. 4ta 1611. 
& Silver Age. Hist Play. 4ta 1613. 
9. Brazen Age. Hist Play. 4to. 1613. 

10. Four Prentices of London.* Hist Play. 4to. 1615 — 1632. 

11. A Woman killed with Kindness. Trag. 4to. 1617. 

12 & 13. Fair Maid of the West Com. 2 Parts. 4ta 1631. 

« Beaumont and Fletcher's Play of The Knight of the Burning Pestle is a 
burlesque of this Play. Warton, in a note to The Second Part of Henry 
jr., remarks, that ** Heywood's (TheFour Prentices) is a mixture of the droll 
and serious, and was evidently written to ridicule the reigning fashion of read- 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. IX 

14 dc 15. Iron Age. Hist. Play. 2 Parts. 4to. 1632. 

16. The English Traveller. Tragi-Coni. 4to. 1633. 

17. A Maidenhead well lost Com. 4to. 1634. 

18. Lancashire Witches. Com. (assisted by Richard Brome.) 4to. 1634. 

19. Love's Mistress; also known by the title of Cupid's Mistress, Cupid and 

Psyche, and Love's Masterpiece. Masque. 4to. 1636 — 1644). 

20. A Challenge for Beauty. Tragi-Com. 4to. 1636. 

21. The Royal King and Loyal Subject. Tragi-Com. 4to. 1637. 

22. Wise Woman of Hogsdon. Com. 4to. 1638. 

23. Fortune by Land and Sea. Tragi-Com. (Assisted by William Rowley.) 

4to. 1636. 

The following Plays are attributed to him in Henslowe's 
Book. 

1. War without Plows, and Love without Suit. 1598. 

2. Joan as good as my Lady. 

3. AlbekeGalles. (Assisted by Wentworth Smith.) 1602. 

4. Marshal Osrick. (Assisted by Smith.) 

6. The Blind eats many a Fly. 

6 & 7. Lady Jane. 2 Parts. By Heywood, Chettle, Dekker, Smith , and 

Webster. 
8 & 9. The London Florentine. 2 Parts. (Assisted by Chettle.) 

In addition to the above list, pieces have been ascribed 
to him which are not only inferior to most of his acknow- 
ledged productions, but which actually do not belong to 
him ; as, TTie Dutchess of Suffolk, which was written by 
Thomas Drue ; and the two dramas on Robert Earl of 
Huntingdon's downfall and death ; the first of which was 

ing romances." This opinion does not appear to be quite correct. One uni- 
formly-serious tone, in our judgment, , prevails throughout this Play. That 
the author intended it to be serious, although it is as fine a subject for burlesque 
as ever was produced, we think there can be little doubt— it is written in that 
'* huffing style^ which distinguished our early dramas ; such as Marlowe's Tani' 
burlane, and others of that class ; and as the author himself says, in a serious 
dedication to the Prentices of London, " was as plays were then [when it was 
written] in the fashion." 



X THOMAS HEYWOOD. 

written by Anthony Munday, and the second by that 
author, assisted by Ohettle.* Tlie last two plays are still 
erroneously spoken of as being written by Hey wood, in the 
edition of Warton*s//M/ory of Poetrt/, just published, as well 
as in the recent collection of Old English Flaps. Langbaine 
is also of opinion, that The Fair Maid of the Ewchange was 
not written by Heywood, notwithstanding the authority of 
Kirkman, who attributes it to him; and although Lang- 
baine is no wizard in such matters, we are inclined to think 
that, in this instance, he is right. Heywood's name is not 
affixed to it ; and it is characterized by a greater poverty, 
both of ideas and style, than is usual with him, even in the 
worst parts of his plays. 

Besides plays, he wrote The City Pageants, for several 
years ; — a translation of Sallust, fol. 1609 ; — Great Britain's 
Troy, fol. 1609; — An Apology for Actors, 4to. 1612; — 
The Hierarchy of the Blessed Angels, fol. 1635 ; — Pleasant 
Dialogues and Dramas, 1637 ; — The Exemplary Lives and 
Acts of Nine fFomen Worthies, 4to. 1640;— 7%^ Life of 
Merlin, 4to. 1640; — The General History of Women, 8vo. 
1667 ; and several smaller pieces. Eromena, or Love and 
Revenge, fol. 1632, has been attributed to him, but errone- 
ously : it is a translation from the Italian of Biondi, and 
was executed by James Hayward, gent. 

Heywood had also formed the design of writing the lives 
of all the poets, ancient and modern, from the time of Ho- 
mer to his own : a design in the execution of which it does 
not appear that he ever made any progress. 

* Henslowe's MS. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 



This is, perhaps, the most favorable specimen of the class 
of dramas to which it belongs : it is not only poetical, but 
invested with considerable interest. 

The reader will observe, that the author has deviated in 
one or two instances from the usually received classical 
mythology. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS; 

Oft 

THE QUEEN'S MASQUE. 

AS IT WAS THREE TIMES PRESENTED BEFORE BOTH THEIR MAJESTIES, 

WITHIN THE SPACE OF EIGHT DATS, 

IN THB PRBSBNCS OF SUNDRY POBBIOK AMBA88ADOB8. 

PUBLICLY ACTED BY THE QUEEN'S COMEDIANS, 
AT THE PH(ENIX, IN DRURT LANE. 



THB SBCOND IMPRBB8ION, CORBBCTBD BY THB AUTHOB, 

THOMAS HEY WOOD. 



Aut prodesse 8(dent aut delectare 



LONDON : 

PRINTED BY JOHN RAWORTH, POR JOHN CROUCH. 

1640. 



TO THE READER. 



GENEROUS READER, 

For this dramatic poem I need not much apology, it having 
past so many tests of approbation ; yet, for commendable 
custom's sake, I follow the tradition of all or most 
authors, who were never deficient in this kind of compli- 
ment. The argument is taken from Apuleius, an excellent 
moral, if truly understood, and may be called a golden 
truth contained in a leaden fable; which, though it be not 
altogether conspicuous to the vulgar, yet, to those of 
learning and judgment, no less apprehended in the para- 
phrase, than approved in the original ; of which, if the 
perusers hereof were all Apuleians, and never a Midas 
amongst them, I should make no question. So much for 
the subject itself; but for the rare decorements which new 
apparel'd it, when it came the second time to the royal 
view, (her gracious Majesty then entertaining his Highness 
at Denmark House, upon his birth-day) I cannot pretermit 
to give a due character to that admirable artist, Mr. Inigo 
Jones, master-surveyor of the king's work, &c. who to 
every act, nay, almost to every scene, by his excellent 
inventions, gave such an extraordinary lustre; upon 
every occasion changing the stage, to the admiration of 
all the spectators, that, as I must ingenuously confess, it 



XVI 



was above my apprehension to conceive ; so to their sacred 
Majesties, and the rest of the auditory, it gave so general 
a content, that I presume, they never parted frcmi any 
object, presented in that kind, better pleased, or more 
plenally satisfied : but these I leave to your judgment to 
guess at ; the thing itself I propose to your eyes to censure ; 
which, if you judge as favorably as I express it freely, 
I shall ever remain, as heretofore, 

Studious of your best opinions, 

THOMAS HEYWOOD. 



TO THE 



RIGHT HON. EDWARD, EARL OF DORSET, 

iMrd Chambertain to the Queen*» mott Exeellmt Mnjetty* Knight 
of the Noble Order of the Garter, and one of hie Ma» 
jeetyg moet Honorabie Privy CouneU, 



Right Honorable, 

It having pleased her most excellent Majesty, to grace 
this, though unworthy Poem, so often idth her royal pre- 
sence, I was emboldened the rather, though I dare not 
commend, yet to commit it to your noble patronage : neU 
ther are Dramas of this nature so despicable as to be held 
unworthy the countenance of great men, when there is 
frequent precedent that the like have been dedicated to 
and entertained by emperors, and the most potent princes 
of their times. If your honour shall deign the acceptance 
of a plain man's love and observance in this presentment, 

as you grace the work» so you shall much encourage the 

b 



XVIU 



author, who humbly takes his. leave of your lordship, with 
that borrowed from the excellent poet, Nemesianus, 
Eel. 1. 



•0 dignuB senior quern earmhie Phoebus, 



Pan calamis> fidibus Linus modulantibus, Orpheus, 
Concinerent 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. 



XIX 



THE PROLOGUE TO THIS PLAY, 

JTteJInt time it uhu presented <m the Stage t 

CUPID, DESCENDING IN A CLOUD, TOE SPEAKER. 

It was a custom 'mongst the Romans, when 
State ladies they invited, or great men, 
As if their doors were all too base and rile 
To entertidn them, their large roofs t' untile, 
And their unbounded welcome more to crown. 
In artificial clouds to let them down ; 
Their superstitious love so far extending. 
Receiving them as gods from heaven descending. 
Although we cannot meet you with like state. 
As ent'ring hither at our public gate. 
You are as welcome ; 'tis Love bids you so : 
And, as their use was, to their guests to shew 
Their best and costiiest jewels, (without boast. 
So Cupid will) what he affecteth most. 
His sweet and dearest mistress ; or, if aught 
Were more in valuation, or in thought. 
That you should see : she is both fresh and new ; 
Then, bid her but as welcome as I you. 



XX 



Her Majetty inviting the King to Denmark House, in the Strand, upon hie 
birth-day, being November the 19th, thie Play, bearing (from that time) 
the title of The Queen's Masque, totu again presented btfbre him : 

CUPID SPEAKING THE PROLOGUE. 

Who's so uu-read doth not of Plato hear. 

His Annus Me^nus, or his vertent year, 

In which the stars, and planets, moon, and suu, 

THr'd with continual labour, having run 

So many ages' long peregrination. 

Return, fresh and new, to their first station ? 

This is that year, sure ! rather, this the day. 
Able to change November into May : 
This day's in heaven a jubilee of joy. 
Where angels sing in quires, f^ive le roy ! 
This is the royal birth-day of a king, 
Then men with angels lo Pean ! sing. 

I'd almost lost myself, when my intent 
Was to tell why I come, and from whom sent. 
From one, to whom I 'm but a shadow ; she. 
The very soul of amiability. 
One, that without my quiver and my bow. 
Commands the hearts and eyes of high and low ; 
Whose name, inscribed here, did you but behold, 
'Twould change the sooty ink to liquid gold 
Of fulgent beauty ; but so pure a mind. 
As if tinctiir'd from heaven, and so divin'd. 
I, Love, from Love am sent ; but she the right. 
Then grace. Great King ! the triumphs of Love's night. 



XXI 



THE EPILOGUE, 

jjpoAren by Cupid, pointirtg to the aeverul Pkuuti. 

Now, Royal Princes, let me turn to you : 
Deign from Love's mouth to take this night's adieu ; 
Thinlc all these planets, that on earth here move. 
Shadows of those celestial ones above. 
Breathe on you their best influences ; Vulcan, he 
Shall henceforth take charge of your armory ; 
Juno, the Marriage Queen, shall bless your bed; 
The Sun shall take the bright beams from his head, 
Tencrease your glory's lustre ; and the Moon 
Attend on you, to make your midnight noon ; 
And Mercury shall roam from shore to shore 
Upon your errands, prove your happy ranger. 
Home-bred to spy, and foresee foreign danger ; 
Venus, with sweets, and J with love will charm you ; 
And after all these, Jove with power shall arm you. 
I've kept you waking long ; good night ! 'tis late -, 
And many birth-days may yon celebrate. 



XXll 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN, 

The second time it wtu acted the same week : 
SPOKEN BY CUPID. 

Yes ; sure 'twas here, where some few hoars I past. 
The very time that I descended last ; 
Aye, here it was ; I know it hy one face. 
To which my mistress. Psyche, must give place : 
A presence, that from Venus takes all power. 
And makes each place she comes in Cupid's bower. 
Though in their several spheres each planet ride. 
With all the gods, to Teast me and my bride 
With nectar and ambrosia, yet, that waste 
Of godly fare could not my palate taste ; 
But I must all celestial sweets forbear. 
To review earthly Jove and Juno here ; 
Whom having seen, hail to you once again : 
Long as the spheres continue, may you reign 
In m^'esty, in power, in issue blest. 
Be all these with your f<»*tunate years encreas'^ ; 
'Till Cupid, ever young, with Time grow old. 
And you, this iron age changing to gold. 
Re-pur 'd by your two virtues, these etherial 
May change to brighter chairs in th' heavens imperial ! 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Apulbius, 
Midas, 


! 


The Chorua. 


Admetus, 


King of Theualjf. 


ASTIOCHE, 


) 




Petrea, 


J 


Hit Thrte Daughters, 


Psyche, 


) 




Mbnbtius, 


! 


Husbands to Asthchs and 


Zelotbs, 


Petrea, 


Venus. 




Rhadamant. 


Cupid. 




Charon. 


Pan. 




Cerberus. 


Apollo. 




Zephyrus. 


Mercury. 




Boreas. 


Vulcan. 




Furies. 


Pluto. 




Four Cyclops. 


Proserpine. 




The Clown. 


Minos. 




Amaryllis, a she Swain, 


iEACUS. 




Four Swains. 


Messenger, &c. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 



ACT I. SCENE I. 

Enter Apuleius, with a pair of cut's ears in his hand. 

^pu. How art thou, Apuleius, re-transformM ? 
Or else how eam'st thou metamorphos'd first 
Into an ass ? why to so duU a beast, 
Oislow, and so obtuse a memory? 
I had a brain aim'd at inscrutable things 
Beyond the moon ; what was sublunary, 
Methought was for my study all too mean ; 
Therefore, aye, therefore, was I thus transhapM : 
That knowing man who keeps not in his bounds. 
But pries into heaven's hidden mysteries 
Further than leave, his dulness is increasM, 
Geaseth to be a man, and so turns beast : 
And thus I fell ; yet, by the self same power. 
That calls all human wisdom foolishness. 
Am once more to my pristine shape restored ; 

B 



^ LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Only to show how vain my ambitions were. 

This folly's crest I still about me bear. 

I fain would know the way to Helicon : 

Can none here tell me ? will none silence break ? 

It seems^ these sit to hear then, not to speak. 

Enter Midas. 

Here's one I hope can tell me ! reverend father. 
How lies my journey to the Muses' hill ? 

Mid. Follow thy nose. 

Apu. Thou most unreverend groom — 
I hope my ass's shape is quite shook off, — [aside. 

Why in this churlish manner speak'st thou then ? 

Mid, The Muses ? hang the Muses. 

j4pu. Can'st thou conduct 
My wand'ring steps to Aganippe's spring? 
To the Muses' temple I am travelling 
And must to them perform a sacrifice. 

Mid, An ass head of thy own, thou must perform. 

Apu. If mei^ be grown thus savage, oh, you pow,ers. 
Re-metamorphose me into an ass ! 
Tis less inglorious, and less grief to live 
A beast amongst wild beasts, than tp see man. 
Brute-like, to blemish his creation. 

Mid, I tell thee once again, I know no Muses ; 
No Muses' hill, no Aganippe's spring ; , 
And, which is more, I care for no such. toys. 

Apu. And which is worst, none wise will care for thee. 
O grief, that silver hairs should crown his head, . - . 
By whom the Muses are dishonoured ; 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 3 

Say, Idol^ whaf s thy naoie } 

Mid. What's that to thee ? 
Yet was I sometime king of Phrygia, 
To whom god Bacchus was beholden once ; 
Andy therefore, bade me ask what I would have. 
It should be granted. Instantly I begg'd. 
That whatsoe'er I toiich'd might turn to gold. 
At first, it pleased me : — when I sat to eat, 
I touch'd the table, and it straight was gold« 
The trenchers gold ; I call'd for earthen vessels. 
Which by my touch .were alchemis'd to gold. 
All which I hugg'd ; but -when I came to carve. 
Even as the dishes, so the meat was gold ; 
The liquid wine, but touch'd, was straight congeal'd ; 
And had not Bacchus freed me from my wish. 
Amidst my gold I had been starvM ere this. 

Apu. Dull, covetous fool ! 

Mid. The shame of this made me resign my state ; 
And where before I was a king of men. 
To fly the harshness of fools' bitter jests, 
I made this wool crown, and am king of beasts, 
And my name's Midas. 

Apu. Then, O king of beasts. 
Be this thy curse ; when thy base life's out-worn, 
No sacred poet name thee but in scorn : 
But wilt thou »t with silence ? 

Mid. Thou prat'st and babbl'st, what would'st thou 
have me do ? 

Apu. Seest thou this sphere spangled with all these stars ? 
All these love arts, nor shall they part from hence 



4 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

With unfeasted ears : my purpose was* 
To expose to them the shapes of all those asses. 
With whom my lost soul wander'd in a mist ; 
Knowing of them thou art not counted least. 
But first I'll shew a story of mine own. 
Of Cupid's love to Psyche ; sit, and see't; 
m make thee then ingenuously confess 
IThy treason 'gainst the Muses' majesty ; 
Withal, not only whatsoever's mine. 
But all true poets' raptures are divine. 

^Mid, Thou hast prevail'd with me ; by Pan, Pll stay : 
But take heed, poet, that your rhymes be sound. 
Else with thine own ass' ears tliou shalt be crownM. 

Apu. We two contend; — Art here, there Ignorance: 
Be you the judges, we invite you all 
Unto this banquet academical. [eaeuni. 

SCENE II. 

Music. Enter Aumetus, Menrtius, Zelotis, Astioche, 

Petrea, and Psyche. 

Adm. You, peers and daughters to th' Arcadian king', * 
We've pass'd the great'st part of our pilgrimage. 
Listen, oh listen ! for these sounds that gild 
The ur's light wings, fanning through all our ears 
Immortal tunes, tell us we are arriv'd 
At sacred Deiphos ; see, the burnish'd spires 
Advance jthemselves to welcome our approach ; 
The temple gates stand ope ; and that great deity. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Whose tongue speaks nothing less than oracle. 
Attended by his Sibyls, deigns ^appear. 

Enter Apollo. 

Men. Oh, teach oar knees, with a most reverend touch. 
To kiss this halloVd earth ! 

Zel Ladies, kneel down ! 

j^sti. And, sir, relate to Mr Latona's son. 
Why this religious voyage was attempted. 

Adm, Daughters, I shall : — ' 
Sacred Apollo, god of archery, 
Of arts, of physic, and of poetry : 
Jove's bright hur'd son, whose yellow tresses shine 
Like curled flames, hurling a most divine' 
And dazzling splendor on these lesser fires. 
Which, from thy gilt beams, when thy car retires. 
Kindle those tapers that lend eyes to night : 
0, thou, that art the landlord of all light ! 
Bridegroom to morning, day's eternal king. 
To whom nine Muses in a sacred ring. 
In dances spherical, trip hand in hand. 
Whilst thy well-stringed harp their feet command ; 
Great Delphian priest ! we to adore thy name. 
Have bum'd fat thighs of bulls in hallow'd flame. 
Whose savour; wrapp'd in clouds of smoke and fire. 
To thy star-spangled palace durst aspire ; 
Tell us, who shall untie the virgin zone 
Of the white-handed Psyche : she alone. 
Of three most Mr, is most unfortunate : 
All love, but none her love \^11 celebrate 



O LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

With nuptial rites ; what must of her betide ? 
Dread Phoebus, tell to whom shall she be bride ? 

Apol, Clothe Psyche in a mourning weed. 
Then lead and leave her on a hill. 
Where Venus' doves their youi^ ones feed ; 
Her husband not of human race, 
But one, whose flaming sight doth kill. 
And jet wants eyes ; his serpent's face 
If she behold, she musrsee hell;; 
And yet, by sdme notorious deed. 
Obtain a patent from that place 
Never to die : Psyche, farewell I 

Much joy'd, much griev'd ; unclasp that spell. ' 

{ewit Apollo, 

Adm, Much griev'd, and yet much joy'd. Poor girl ! I 
fear 
The scale of grief will weigh down that of cheer. 

Men. She must see hell, and yet she ne'er shall die ; 
True, for hell's torments live eternally. 

Ast. But, father, no tongue shall her joys express. 

Pet. Phoebus, thy words leave us all comfortless. 

Psy. I must espouse a serpent, that's my hell. 

ZeL But, since you never shall behold his face. 
Your torments cannot be so horrible. 

Men. Is't possible, by deeds impossible 
T'attiun the crown of immortality : 
It cannot be : thus mocking Phoebus leaves us 
Always in clouds of darkness to deceive us.' 

Adm, Stay thy profane tongue, lest deserved wrath 
Strike thee with death from his revengeful sphere. ^ 



LOWS MISTaES& 7 

Thou must be dotVd iii mournii^gy so thou art 
A mourning hMX, aujd a thought-dck heart : 
Thou must be left alone on Venus' hill ; 
The destinies' decree we must fulfil : 
Thy husband must want sig^ht, and yet have eyes 
That flame and kill ; oh> leave these mysteries 
Until the gods reveal them 1 come, lefs hence : 
Change your Arcadian tones to Lydian sounds : 
Sad notes are sweetest, where deep woe confounds. 

[eaeunt, 

SCENE III. 

Music, Enter Venus. 

f^en, Cupid, my son, where's he ? 

Oup. Anon, forsooth I [within. 

Fen, 111 gather rods of roses, if you mock me 
With your — anon, forsooth I 

Cup. Anon, forsooth ! [within. 

Ven. Shall I be thus still vex'd ? still when my blood 
Boils in the fire of anger ; then this ape 
With purpose frets me. ^Boy ! 

Enter Cupid. 

Cup. Anon, forsooth I 
Ven. Will Juno come, or Ceres ? 
Cup. Jimo lay loUing in my uncle's lap. 
Ven. Which uncle ? 

Cup. Uncle Jove : — I laugh'd outright 
To see how, wanton-like, with both her arms, 



S LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

She clung about bis heck, gave him ten kisses, 

Tojr'd with his locks, look'd babies in his eyes. 

And swore she would not watch him when he went 

Amongst his wenches, if he'd turn away 

His saucy page, the smooth-fiacM Ganymede ; 

The boy by chance upon her fan had spilt 

A cup of nectar ; oh, how Juno swore I 

I told my aunt I'd give her a new fan. 

To let Jove's page be Cupid's serving man. 

Fen, Whaf s this to Venus' message ? what said Juno ? 
Cup» I ask'd her when she'd come, and, in good sooth. 
She answer'd nothing but — anon, forsooth ! 

Fen, And where was Ceres ; what did she reply ? 
Cup, Ceres was binding garlands for god Pan, 
Of blue-bottles, and yellow piss-abeds. 
That grew amongst the wheat, with which she crown'd 
His forked brows, and woo'd him with his horn 
To rouse the skipping Satyrs to go hunt 
A herd of swine that rooted up her com; 
I ask'd her when she'd come, and in good sooth. 
She sent me packing with — anon, forsooth 1 
Fen. I sent for Pan, and for Apollo too: 
What news from them ? 

Cup, They said they would be here immediately. 

Enter Pan and Apollo. 

Apol, Why in such haste hath Venus sent for us } 
Fen, I sent for Juno, and for Ceres too ; 
But they'll not come. 
Pan, WeU, what's the news with you ? 



LOVETS MISTRESS. 9 

Ven, Have you not heard bow Venus is contemn'd ? 
Her temples gaz'd at, but not trod upon. 
Her stately ban^ngs, and ber pillows torn ? 
Those rosy garlands that her statues crown'd. 
Are wither'dy or else trampl'd on the ground ; 
Those troops that flock'd to Paphos to adore me. 
Shun Paphos now, and scornfully abhor me. 

Pan, That's strange, for all are up tcvth' ears in love : 
Boys without beards get boys, and girls bear girls ; 
Fine little rattle-babies, scarce thus high. 
Are now call'd wives : if long this hot world stand. 
We shall have all the earth turn Pigmy-Land. 

Fen. All honour love, but none adore love's queen. 

ApoL The injury is great ; but from whence springs it } 

yen. From Psyche, daughter to th' Arcadian king ; 
They call her Queen of Love, will know no other. 
And swear my son shall kneel and call her mother. 

Cup, But Cupid swears to make the jacks forsworn 

ApoL Will Cy therea swaUow this disgrace ? 

Pan, What shall Pan do in this ? 

Fen, Lend me your aids. 
If you meet Psyche, charge young Mercury 
To send her to me, or imprison her 
Till you have sent me word. 

Apol, If this be aU, Venus shall have her wish. 

Pan, Pan, by his upright boms and beard, doth swear 
To hunt out Psyche^ but if I do this. 
What will sweet Venus give me? 

Ven. A sweet kiss ; 
And Phoebus shall have one, Cupid another. 



10 LOVE'S MISTRBSS4 

Upon condition they will right those wrongs 
Which Psyche, in her great pride, throws on me ; 
Draw from thy quiTcr a dull leaden shaft. 
And stick it through her bosom to the heart ; 
Make her in love, but let her proud eyes doat 
On some ill-shapen drudge, some v^j fool ; 
Do this, m w^ave for thee a coronet 
Of roses mix'd with Berenice's hiur ; 
And give thee my best chariot, and my doves. 
To hunt with on the earth or in the air ; 
\^lt thoU do this, my boy ? 

Cup. I will, forsooth. 

F'en. Nay, do not mock me, wilt thou ? 

Cup. Yes indeed* indeed I will, forsooth. 

f^en. Sweet lad, adieu then. 
Apollo, Pan, revenge poor Venus' wrongs. 
Whilst I unyoke my silver-colQur'd team. 
To wanton on the bosom of yon stream. [emt. 

Apol. Now she hath called me down unto the earth, 
I'll try what pastimes dwell amongst the swains. \ednt. 

Pan. And with my Satyrs I will have some sport 
Here in the Arcadian valleys. [emt. 

Cup. ShaU Psyche's beauteous eyes gaze on base love? 
No, let my mother storm, and chafe, and lower. 
She shall be none but Cupid's paramour. 

Enter Zephyrus. 

Ho, Zephyrus I how now, thou puffing slave ! 

Art thou grown proud, thou swell'st so ? Gentle wind. 
Clap on thy smoothest feathers, sleekest wings. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 11 

And mount thee to the top of yonder, rock ; 

Tbere shalt thou find, anon, a forlorn maid : 

OunTey her gently 4owil into the vale 

That borders on my l^ower i see this performed. 

And I will clothe thee in a grass-green robe, 

Vtted with daizieSy pinks, and marigolds ; 

1*11 play the thief in Flora's treasury, 

'To make all eyes in love with ^ephyrus ; 

^y hence, do this, and henceforth be thou king 

^all the winds, and father of the spring ! [ejpeunt. 



SCENE IV. 

Enter Admbtus, Menbtius, Zelotis, Astioche, 
Petrea, and Psyche. 

-^dm. Behold the foot of that unhappy rock, 
'Pen whose frozen top, by Phoebus' doom, 
^ou must abide thy tnost sinister hap. 
■^iti. Dear sister Psyche. 
JPsy, Peace, Astioche. 
"T^^trea I father I yoij should all have moumM 
.J^^en the mad spirits of the multitude 

leel'd down and call'd me Venus ; then have wept, 
ten Cytherea's altars were left bare, 
id I was call'd a goddess $ when these tears, 
^^liose reeking makes my funeral lights bum dim, 
^^^ight have quench'd Venus* wrath ; but leave me now 
*o fight with death, or meet worse misery. 
Men. But lurks that serpent in this fotal rocli i 



U, 



12 LOTBS mSTKBS. 

#Vf . So nod Apollo. 



We win costect hir Fijdbe to Ike cm?e, 

Aad rq» Ike MOMler^t entnils witk oar swords. 

Psf. Fotbe^r aD loree, I will Moend alooe ; 
Pluebos will be AspleM'd ; alooe, odd he, 
Distreaaed Fijdbe shall cfimb iqi yon luU. 

^db. The wiy is dangenms, tkoa wilt lose thyself 
Withoot a guide. 

Pfjf. Death must my conduct be : 
See where the pale hag stands ; fain worid, adieu ! 
I am his bride, he waits for none of you. 

[sAe cKmhs up ike rock. 

Adm. What pains the poor giri takes ! see how she strives 
Against the swelling bosom of the hill \ 

Men. See, the kind brambles, as enamoured of her. 
Circle her beauty in their catching armsy 
Wooing her to come back ; as who should say. 
Thou run'st too fast to death : sweet P^che, stay. 

Adm. But all in vain ; she ^ow hath dimb'd the rock. 
And wafts her hand ; do you the like to' her. 
Whose timeless death prepares my sepulchre. 

Pet. Sister, with courage meet tiiy destiny; 
To-morrow, if thou liv'st, we'll visit thee. {e»eunt. 

Enter Cupid and Zephyrus. 

Cup. Fly, Zephyrus : on top of yonder mount 
My fair love sits ; on thy soft swelling wings 

Let Psyche ride [eait Zepkyrue.'] you voices, that 

attend me^ 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 13 

^ce in the air like wantons, to entice 
%Jove to dwell in Cupid's paradise : 
^ttsic^ with ravishing tones enchant her ears ! 
^ banquet there I she that doth Cupid wed, 
■'^us shall she live, and thus be honored. [e^it, 

[Zephyrua takes Psyche from the rack, 
and eant with her in his arms. 



SCENE V. 

^*^er Zephyrus with Psyche, and places her at a banquet table, 

and eant* 

Psy. Where am I now ? For through the cheerful air 
Either I have been brought, on unseen wings ; 
^at wond'rous place is this ? No serpent sure 
^ttrks in this pleasant bow'r : my ear drinks sounds 
Of heaven-tun'd instruments ; I see no creature. 
And yet, methought, soft fingers set me down, 
And I am forc'd, by sweet compulsion, 

[a banquet, first plain, and presently set out with 

all delicates. 
To be the only guest of this fair board. 
Which, empty, is as soon new furnished; 
I fain would touch these sweets, but fear to taste them. 
Echo, Taste them. 2. Taste them. 3. Taste them. 
Psy. What voice is that ? I dare no longer sit ! 
Echo. Sit. 2. Sit. 3. Sit. 

Psy, Who mocks me ? Are you devils, ot are you gods ? 
Echo. Gods. 2. Gods. 3. Gods. 



14 ^ LOYETS MISTRESS. 

Psy. The gods Mdll do no harm 1 
Echo, No harm. 2. No harm. 3. No harm. 
Psy, Psyche, be bold, and taste this heavenly food. 
Echo, Ha ha ha. 2. Ha ha ha. 3. Hahaha^ 
Psy, These are no echoes, for they shift their place. 
Nor catch they my last words as echoies do. 
For when I would have fed, they mockM my pride. 
They laughM aloud at my presumption : 
No, these are fury-elves, and will torment me. 

Enter Zephyrus, with drink. 

If thus I talk to them. — ^Who fills this wine. 
And tempts my eye with it ? as who should say. 
Drink, Psyche. 

Echo, Drink, Psyche. 2. Drink, Psyche. 3. Drink, 
Psyche. 

Psy, Pll taste no drop of this enchanted wine: 
Fain from this magic circle would I rise. 
Yet dare not j Oh, let Psyche see your eyes. 
Or rid me hence, and set my fears in peace 1 

Echo, Peace. 2. Peace. 3. Peace. 

Enter Cupid. 

Cup, How lovely is my Psyche ; earth's too base 
To be possess'd of her celestial form : 
My mother hates her ; for the gods, I fear. 
Would banish her from earth, my love being there ; 
And therefore shall she live in Cupid's bower. 
For she deserves to be Love's paramour : 
Oh how thy fur eyes wound me ; by this kiss. 
And this white hand. 



LOVB*S MISTRESS. 15 

Piy. Oh me 1 what voice is this ? 
'feel besides, soft fingers and a ring. 

Cup, Long white fingers, soft white hand, 
Hin^, and all at thy command. 

Psy. Is this my husband then ? 

Cup. Ho, ZephyruB ! 
Remoye hence those ambrosiah dishes straight. 

[Zephyrus takes off the banquet. 

Ptp, My fieither much mistook the oracle $ 
To this sweet voice, could I ei\joy the sight, 
I should myself then style queen of delight. 

Cup. Pleasure shall be thy lackey ; wilt thou hunt 
Then in an airy chariot, drawn by birds ? 
On the winds' downy back my love shall ride ; 
Mnd Zephyrus shall be thy waggoner $ 
Who, if the heat offend, his silver wings 
Shall fiEm cool air upon thee : yet, my love. 
If thou conmiit'st one sin, thou art not mine. 

Piy. Name it, and I'll avoid it for your sake. 

Cup. Thy mourning sisters shortly will return. 
And seek thee on the rock from whence thou cam'st. 
But shun their sight and speech ; Psyche, do this. 
Thou robb'st me else of love, thyself of bliss. 

Pty. Not speak, nor see my sisters ! oh what pleasure 
Can Psyche take, lock'd in a golden jail ? 

Cup. Run not unto thy ruin, gentle love : 
Yet if thou needs wilt see and speak with them. 
Command thy servant Zephyrus to bring them 
From top of yonder rock into this vale $ 
But if they make inquiry who I am. 



16 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Fill both their laps with gold, and send them gone.' 
Besides, I woo thee by this nuptial kiss. 
Do not persuade me to disclose my shape. 
Attempting that, thou loses t this high state, 
I then must leave thee, thou live desolate. 

Psy, In all these things, I will obey my love. 

Cup, Then Psyche, in thine unseen husband's hand. 
Clasp thy white fingers $ I'll now crown thy bed 
With the sweet spoils of thy lost maidenhead. [eaeunt. 

Enter Apuleius and Midas. 

Mid, Hand off! let go my sheep-hook ! I'll not stay, 
111 hang myself, e'er I'll see out thy play : 
Call you this poetry ? 

Apu, If this displease thee, Midas, then PU shew thee. 
Ere I proceed with Cupid and his love. 
What kind of people I commerc'd withal 
In my tran-shape. 

Mid, That's when thou wert an ass. 

^pu. The very same. 

3fid. Yes, that I fain would see. 

^pu. Sit then, and view thine own infirmity. 

A Dance. Enter a Proud Ass with ears. 

Mid. What fellow's that ? 

j4pu, A self-will*d insolent fool, 
Who spits at those above him, and those beneath 
Despiseth, and his equals jets upon ; 
Rich in his own conceit, in judgment poor ; 
Still carping, tho' a coxcomb, and may pass. 
As these days go, for a proud arrogant ass. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 1 ^ 

Dance.'^Enier a Prodigal Ass. 

^^d. Aye, this I like :— What fellow's that ? 

4^. A fellow, he, • 

^0 riots that which most penuriously 
H^ father hoarded, in drabs, drink, and play ; 
bearing fantastic habits, and gay clothes. 
Till he hath quite exhausted all his gold. 
And for a prodigal ass may be enroll'd ! 

Dartce. — Enter a Drunken Ass. 

Mid. This ^ves me good content : — What's he ? 
j4pu, A pot-companion, brother to the glass. 
That roars in's cups, indeed a drunken ass. 

Dance, — Enter an Usurer. 

Mid, He looks like a good fellow : 
Now, that grey-beard? 

Apu. One that doth pinch his belly in his life. 
And starve his own guts to make others feed ; 
P^tcheth his own clothes to make others proud. 
And for a covetous ass may be allowed. 

Dance.^Enter a Young Gentlewoman. 

Mid, But so did never Midas : — ^now, that minx ? 

j4pu. Her mother's darling she, bom to good means; 
In love with all she sees, yet truly, none ; 
Who when great heirs are proffer'd, trifles them; 
Add, in the end, when with none else she can, 
She marries with her father'a serving-man : 
And that is a right she-ass. 

c 



IS L0YW9 MUlTREta. 

Dance, — Enter an Ionorant Asft. 

Mid, What reverend person's that i 
Of all the ether I like him best. 

^pu. That, Midas, is thy brother; 
A piece of moving earth, illiterate, dull ; 
Who haying, in himself, nought cowmendftble. 
Envies what's good in others ; and yet dare 
In his own impudence with Artii comp^ure. 
A block, a stone ! yet learning he'll revile ; 
And a dull ignorant ass we will him style. 

Mid. But Where's your Poet Ass among all the«e ^ 

[^ditties da^^, tmd eaeu9^. 

Apu, There's no such creature. 

Mid, Then what call'st thou those 
That let not men lie quiet in their graves. 
But haunt their ghosts with ballads and bald rhyaes ^ 
Do they not teach the very fiends in heU 
Speak in blank verse? do we not daily see 
Every dull-witted Ass spit poetry ? 
And for thy soene^ thou bring^t here tm the stage 
A young green-sickness baggage to rua after ^ 
A little ape-fac'd boy thou term'st a god : 
Is not this most absurd ? 

Apu, Misunderstanding fool, thusmttclkeoiieelve; 
Psyche is Anima, Pfeyche i« the soul. 
The soul, a virgin, longs to be a bride ; 
The soul's immortal; whom theik can she woo 
But heaven ? whom wed, but immortaKty ^ 
Oh, blame not Psyche then, if, mad Mfith rage. 
She long for this so divine marriage ! 



LOVrS HI8TRB5S. 19 

Mid. But tell me theii^ why should Apollo say, 

^U love her, and yet none will marry her i 

Apu. All love foir Psyche ; all cast amonms eyes 

^.the soul's beauty ) but who is't will wed her ? 

None with the soul will lead so strict a life. 

As heaven enjoins with such a blessed wife. 
Mid. Thou proinpf St my understanding pretty well ; 

But why shotdd Venus, being queen of lave, 

^h her son Cupid to enamour her 

Of some base groom, mis-shapen and deform'd I 

Apu, By Tenus here, itf meant intemperate lust ; 
Lust wooB h^ son Desire, t' inflame the soid 
With some base groom, 4haif s to some ugly sin 
Desire is good and ill \ the eyU swears 
To obey his mother Veniis, and itiL Psyche : 
But Cupid, representang true d«8ire> 
Doats on the soul's sweet beaiity, sends his servant^ 
Zephyrus, in whom odestial pleasure's meant, 
T* entice his love, the soul, to bis chaste bed. 
Giving her heaven Uat her loet maidenhead. 

Mid. Only one riddle more, aad I have done : 
Why did the poor giri Psychfr take stach pains? 
What scrambling riiift she made to cUmb the mountain. 
And crawl through brakes and iMPiars to get a husband 1 

Apu. This shews how many strong adversities. 
Crosses, pricks, thorns, and stings of conscience. 
Would throw the ambitious soul, affecting heaven. 
Into despair and fainting diffidence. 
Which Psyche must pass through ; the soul must fly 
Through thousand lets, to seek eternity. 



20 LOVFS MISTRESS. 

Mid. Thou hast made this somewhat plain. 

j4pu. Kind gentlemen, 
"V^nk at our strife; you may, in pardoning this, . 
Count this our talk a mere parenthesis. [eaeuni 



ACT 11. SCENE I. 



Enter Psyche, Astiochb, and Petrba. 

Psy, Welcome, dear usters r with the breath of love. 
Poor Psyche gives kind welcome to you both ! 
O tell me then, by what auspicious guide. 
You came conducted to this sacred place? 

A8t, Sister, you shall. When many a weary step ■ 
Had brought us to the top of yonder rock. 
Mild Zephyrus embraced us in his aiins. 
And in a cloud of rich and strong perfumes, . 
Brought us unto the skirts of this green mead. 

Psy. And happily arriv'd I nature and art 
Have strove to make this dale their treasury ; 
Winds fly on Psyche's errands ; shapes unseen 
Are my attendants, and, to make me sport. 
Will dance like nimble echoes in the ur. 
And mock me. 

Echo. Mock me. 2. Mock me. 3. Mock me. 

Psy. Sisters, how like you this ? 

Echo. This, ha ha ha! 2. This, ha ha ha! 3. This, h 
ha ha! 



. LOVE'S MISTRESS. 21 

t^et. They mock us ! will they do no harm to us ? 
f^ey, Oh^no. 

^cho. No. 2. No. 3. No. 
/V^. Babblers, be silent ! 
~ Echo, Silent. 2. Silent. 3. Silent. 

/Vy. Or else I'll punish you ; 
-^^Jid let me hear some music — ^loud — and still ! 

\loud music, and siill music, 
* ell me how like you this ? 

^8t. It flies the reach of admiration. 
Pet. But let us see the shapes of them that play ; 
^^at are they ? speak ! or whafs your husband's name ? 
Xjet's know our brother, that we may relate 
To the king, our father, yoiir high honor'd state. 
Psy. My husband, sister, is now rid from home. 
Ast. Why, say he be; I hope you know his name ? 
Well ransack all the palace but we'll find him : 
Is your sweetheart so proud, he'll not be seen ? 
Pei. Where is he. Psyche ? 
Psy. Trust me, he's from home. 
^8t. Let's see his picture then ? 
Psy. Lass, I have none. 
Pet. Describe his person ? 
Psy. 1 must shift them hence, 
My tongue will else breed my confusion. [aside, 

Ast. Nay, sister, when ? 
Pet, When, sister, will it be ? 
Psy. How should I give him shape I never saw ? 
He's a fedr lovely youth ! upon each cheek 
Smiles lie in cheerful dimples ; on his brow 



22 LOVERS MISTRESS. 

Sits love and mfgesty in glorious pride. 

His eyes such beauty in their circles hold. 

That, walking in the night, IVe thought them stars ; 

Long flaxen curled tresses crown his head. 

Come, come, you shall not be enamoured 

Of my fair husband ; this fcyr all su^ce. 

He's young and rioh. 

j4si, O how my blood doth rise. 
In envy of her high felicity ; speak, what's hil9 name i 

Psy, Home, home ! more music there 1 I must to Fe9t. 
Ho, Zephyrus ! 
Come forth, and bring me brim full bags pi gold : 

Hold up your laps ; tho' them you cannot see 

That bring this gold, this lai^esa tal^e from me ; 

Adieu, adieu ! my duty to the king : 

I needs must stop mine ears when Syrens sdng* [ejfit. 

Pet, Astiochel 

Ast, Petrea! Oh, Fm mad to AQte her pride i 
Her husband is no serpent, a^ 'twas said. 
And false Apollo sung ; he is some god* 
And this his temple ; for no mortal hand 
Hath laid these crystal pavements, clothe thet^ weada 
In never-fading liveries of gceen : 
Flora, you see, clothes all the ground with floweis. 
Flora is Psyche^s hand-maid ; Zephyvu^ 
Is but her foot-boy, lackeys at her beck. 

Pet. Yet she's our sister, and it doth me good 
To see rich worth in any of our htood. 



LOVE'S MlfiTRESS. 23 

Ast. Thou art a fool, Petrea, for I hate 
That any's fortune should transcend my state ( 
She sends us hence in scorn, but we'll return. 
And never cease, till by some treachery. 
Her pride we make a slave to misery. [e»€unt, 

SCENE II. 

Enter Aometus, Mbnetius, and Zblotes. 

Men. Patience, great sir, you have not lost them all; 
Doubtless the two last live. 

ZeL Sir, though they be your daughters, they're our 
wives. 
And we are in no such despair of them, 

Adm, Admit you were ; one for Astioche, 
And that another for Petrea wept ; 
You two, but for two wives shed husbands' tears ; 
For you and them, I sorrow all ; your fear 
Divided betwixt you, on me alone. 
Lies like a moiutun, and thus casteth down 
Admetus* wretched body with his crown ; 
They followed Psyche, and her destiny 
Hath given them death, us living misery. 

\He throws himself on the ground, 

m 

Enter Evemore. 
Eve. Rise, royal sir ; your daughters are returned. 
Adm. O, where ? which way are my two daughters come ? 
Eve. Yes, sir ; and both their laps are fiU'd with gold. 

Enter Astioche, and Petrea. 
Adm. Welcome to both in onel oh, can you tell 



24 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

What fate your sister hath ? 

Both, Psyche is well. 

Adm, So among mortals it is often sud, — 
Children and friends are well, when they are dead. 

Ast. But Psyche lives, and on her breath attend 
Delights that far surmount aU earthly joy j 
Music, sweet voices, and ambrosian fare ; 
Winds, and the light-wing'd creatures of the air ; 
Clear channeFd rivers, springs, and flow'ry meads 
Are proud when Psyche wantons on their streams. 
When Psyche on their rich embroidery treads. 
When Psyche gilds their chrystal with her beams. 
We have but seen our sister, and, behold ! 
She sends us with our laps full-brimmM with gold. 

Adm, O, you amaze me, daughters ! 

Pet, Let joy banish amazement from your kingly 
thoughts ; ' 

Psyche is wedded to some deity. 
And prays, withal, our quick return agun. 

Adm, We grant it : we, with you and these, will go 
To Psyche's bow'r 5 desire enflames my mind. 
To sit on the bright wings of that blest wind. 

Ast, Oh, but the god that governs Psyche's thoughts* 
For sure he is immortal, charg'd my sister 
To talk with none but us. 

Pet, Yet by the magic of our tongues we'll try 
If we can win you so much liberty. 

Adm, Go, my Astioche, but come again 
To comfort him that must thy want complain ; 
Go with my love, Petrea, but return 



LOVE% MISTRESS. 26 

With winged speed, whilst we your absence mourn ; 

Go with my blessing ; blest those sisters be. 

That live like you in bonds of unity ! 

Give Psyche this ; give her this, thou Petrea; [kisses them. 

Tell her she is myself, my soul's idea. 

And say, whilst she is spotless, lovely white. 

She shall be my sole comfort, my delight : 

'80 part with my best wishes. [ejeeunt, 

SCENE ni. 

Enter Clown, with three or four Swains. 

Chum. And what might you call that young gentleman, 
that rules and reigns, revels and roars in these walks of 
Arcadia ; that makes you borrow sheeps' eyes from your 
flocks, and leaves you no more brains in your heads than 
in your sheep-hooks ? What might you call that gallant ? 

1st, Swain, Whom do you mean ? him whom god Pan so 
honours, the Fawns fear, and the Satyrs shake to see? 

Clown. lUe ipse, the same ; I desire no more than this 

■ 

sheep-hook in my hand to encounter with that swash- 
buckler. 

2nd. Swain, It is the god of love ; they call him Cupid. 

Clown, Cupid ! Coxcomb 1 your Satyrs are all sots, your 
Fawns fools, and your Pan a pitiful poor fellow : had I their 
horns, as I know not what I may have in time, I would so 
gore him ; — and what w^pons doth he use ? 

3r</. Swain. They say— 4)0w and arrows. 

Clown, Bow and bird-bolts doth he not ? and how lies 
he? Where's his guard? what's his play? can any of you 



26 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

all give me his true title ? 

Isl. Swain, Not I, 'tis far beyond me. 

Clown. Then hearken, O you hfifyds 1 and listen, O you 
illiterates, ' whilst I give you his style in folio 1 he is king 
of cares, cogitations, and coxcombs ; viceroy of vows and 
vanities ; prince of passh>ns, prate-apaces, and pickl'd 
lovers ; duke of disasters, dissemblers, and drownM eyes ; 
marquis of melancholy and mad folks; grand signior of 
griefs and groans ; lord of lamentations, hero of heigh- 
hos ! admiral of ay-mes 1 and monsieur of mutton laced. 

2nd. Swain. Here's a style I shall never be able to get 
over. 

Clown. And who do you think maintains this princox in 
his pontificalibus ? 

3rd. Swain. Nay, it exceeds my capacity. 

Clown. A company of pitiful fellows call'd poets; did 
you never hear of one Homer, and of The Tale of Troy, 
and of a ten years' siege, and many such trifles, ? 

2nd. Swain. Yes, and many things concerning them. 

Clown, But hear me, oh you miss of misunderstanding ; 
This Troy was a village of some twenty houses; and 
Priam, as silly a fellow as I am, only loving to play the good 
fellow, he had a great many bowsing lads, whom he called 
sons. 

3re/, Swain. As we have here in Arcadia. 

Clown. Just the same : by this Troy ran a small brook, 
that one might stride over; on the other side dwelt 
Menelaus, a farmer, who had a light wench to his wife 
call'd Helen, that kept his sheep; whom Paris, one of 
Priam's mad lads, seeing and liking, 'ticeth over the brook. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 27 

aad lies with her in despite of her husband's teeth : for 
which wrong, he sends for one Agamemnon his brother, 
that was then high eonstable of the hundred, and complains 
to him $ he s^ds to one Ulysses, a £ur spoken fellow, wad 
town-clerk, and to divers others, amongst whom was one 
stout fellow called Ajax, a butcher, who i^n a holyday 
brings a pair of cudgels, and lays them down in the midst, 
where the two hundreds were then met, which Hector, a 
baker, another bold lad of the other nde, seeing, steps 
forth, and takes them upi these two had a bout or two for 
a broken pate; and here was all the 'drcumstance of the 
Trojan Wars. 

Ut. Swain, To see what these poets can do ! 

Clown. But listen to them, and they will fill your heads 
with a thousand fooleries ; observe one thing, there's none 
of you all iA> sooner in love, but he is troubled with their 
itch, for he will be in his amorets, and his canzonets, 
bis pastorals, and his madrigals, to his PhiUis, and his 
AmarylUs. 

Ut. Swain. Oh beauteous Amaryllis ! 

Clown. And what's Amaryllis, think'st thou ? 

\9t. Swam. A fair and lovely creature. 

Clown. I'll show 'thee the contrary by her own name. 
^mor is love, illU is ill; ill cannot be good: erg^, 
Amaryllis is stark naught: let one or two examples serve 
for more ; there's one of our fairest nymphs call'd Susanna ; 
what is Susanna, but 9ug and anna, which is, in plain 
Arcadia, Nan is a sow. 

2nd. Swain. Well, you have taught us more than ever I 
understood before, eonceniing poetry. 



28 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Clown. Come to me but one hour in a morning, and I'll 
read deeper philosophy to you : good-morrow^ neighbours ; 
poets , quoth-a ? what's Tltule tu patule, but titles and 
pages ? wha.^8 Propria qua maribiM^ but a proper man loves 
marrow-bones ? Fimnineo generi tribuuntur, but the feminine 
gender is troublesome ? what's Ovid, but quasi avoid ? now 
should I be in love ; with whom ? with Doll ; what's that 
but dole and lamentation; with Jug> what's she, but 
sister to a black-pot? or what's Peg, good for nothing but 
to drive into a post? no, Cupid, I defy thee and all thy 
genealogy ! 

Enter Cupid. 

Cup, What's he that so profanes our deity^ 
And scorns that power which all the gods adore? 
To whom Jove sometimes bends, and Neptune kneels. 
Mars homageth, and Phoebus will submit, • 
Sly Mercury obey, and Vulcan bow to ; 
And all the rural gods and goddesses. 
Satyrs and nymphs allow their sovereign ; 
He shall not 'scape unpunished. 

Clown. If I could but find one of these fantastical poets, 
or light upon that little god, their patron, I would so 
tickle them. 

Cup, This hobinoll, this rustic, this base clown ! 
I find him of a dull and brainless eye. 
Such as I know a golden-headed shaft 
Will never enter j of a skin so thick. 
As pointed silver hath no power to pierce : 
For such gross fools I have a bolt in store. 



LOVE*S MISTRESS. 29 

Wliich, though it cannot wound, shall give a blow. 

To startle all within him. [shoots. 

Chum. Oh-me! hey-ho! 

Cup. Lie there, base Midas' bastard i that refuses 
All-honor'd love, and rail'st against the Muses. [e:nt. 

Ckwn. Oh coward ! whatsoe'er thou art, to come behind 

a man and strike him before ; for I saw nobody : to shoot, 

and never give a man warning, oh coward I I am paid, I am- 
pepper'd ; the case is altePd, for any one may guess by the 
hugeness of the blow, that I am mightily in love ; ay-me ! 
that any wench were here, whose name is Ay-me ; now 
could I be in love with any Madge, though she were an 
howlet, or with any maid, though she looked like a malkin ; 
Oh, poetry! I find I am poison'd with thee too; for me- 
thinks I could say my prayers in blank-verse ; nay let me 
see, I think I could rhyme for a need.^ 

Capid, I yield, since so I know thy will is ; 

And I'll go seek me out some Amaryllis. [eaii. 

SCENE IV. 

Enter Psyche, aUme. 

Psy. There's at this time a combat in my soul. 
Whether to trust my well-known sisters better. 
Or my unseen husband : I have ask'd. 
Demanded, and inquired o£ all my train, 
Tlus fairy-train that hourly waits on me, 
^et none of them will tell me what he is^ 

Enter Cupid. 
Besides, this solitude 1 to he alone 



^ LOVrS MISTRBSS. 

Begins to grow most tedious, and my fears 
Do erery way distract me. 

Cup. Why, how now. Psyche ? 

Psy* Oh, let mercy's eyes 
Shine on my fault ! 

Cup, Are these thy hearen-bound ?ows? 
Are all thy protestations gilded air If 
Hast thou no more regard to my commaadr 
Or thine own safety? 

Piff. Dear love, pardon me ! 

Cup, Once more I do ; and still must pardon thee. 
And thou must still offend, still tortmre me ; 
Yet once again Fll try thy constancy : 
Thy sisters are at hand. 

Pty, But, gentle love, shall i not speak to them I 

Cup. Yes, but I woo thee 
To send them quickly hence, or they'll undo thee : 
They now are at the rock ; bid the eool ivind. 
To please thee, bring them to the place assign'd. [ewit, 

Psy. Ho, Zephyrus ! 

Enter Zephyrus, ufith the two Sisters, 

Tell me the cause of your so quick return, [to her sisters, 

Ast, Psyche, we come in danger of our lives. 
To save our sister from ensuing harm. 

Psy, What harm ? what danger ? 

Ast. Danger imminent ; 
Once you refus'd our counsel,. and deny'd 
To let us know your husband, or his name. 

Pet. Come, let's see him 1 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 31 

Psy, Oh, what shall I do ? 

Pet, Escape the danger you are fall'n into. 

Psy, You cannot see him. 

Ast. Grive us then his shape. 

Psy, His shape ; why he's a man whose snowy head 
Bows on his bosom, through the weight of age. 

Ast, That cannot be ; you said he was a youth 
Of comely stature^ with long flaxen hair. 

Psy. I am entrapp'd. 

Asi. Speak ; did you ever see your husband ? 

Psy. Why do you ask I pray> trouble me no more : 
Leave me, and I will fiU your laps with gold. 

Ast, Once thy gold tempted us to leave this place. 
And to betray thy life to misery^ 
It shall not now : did not Apollo doom 
Thy fatal marriage to some hideous beast I 
How just is Phoebus in his auguries ! 
Last night, when we went hence laden with gold. 
We spy'd a serpent gliding on the mead. 
Who, at the sight of us, writhing hiis head 
Proudly into the air, first hiss'd at heaven. 
Because it did ucKt shade him from our eyes. 

Psy, How did that serpent vanish from your «^ht ? 

Ast, In at these gates he roU'd ; Psyche, be wise ! 
For tho' a whtUe he <Mly with thy beauty,. 
Dulling thy taste with sweets, thy eyes with ^wa. 
Thy ears with mjusics &nd sweet luIUbies,. 
He will in time devour thee^^ 

Psy. MiseraMe wveteh 1 
How shall I fly the fate that follows me ? 



32 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Whose help shall I invoke ? 

Pet. Tell us the truth. 
And we'll devise some means to succour thee. 
Psy, You are my sisters ; I confess to you, 
I never saw his face, know not his shape. 
Yet have I touch'd his eyes, and felt his hands. 
Oft have I kiss'd his cheeks, more oft his lips ; 
Eyes, hands, lips, cheeks, and face so charm'd my touch. 
That I have sworn, save his, there were none such; 
Yet your strange story makes me to suspect 
That he's some serpent, for he tells me still. 
To see his glorious shape will ruin me ; 
Besides, he bids me shun your company. 
Else you will breed my sorrow ; this is that 
Which troubles me. 

Ast. Hear then my counsel ! instantly provide 
A keen-edg'd razor, and a burning lamp ; 
At night, when sleep sits on his monstrous eyes. 
Steal from his speckl'd side, step to your light. 
And without fear behold his horrid shape. 
And with the razor cut his scaly throat ; 
And so by death gain life, and he being dead. 
Psyche shall to some king be married. 

Pet. How doth our sister relish this device? 

Piy. I do embrace your counsel, and this night 
Pll put the same in execution ; 
Come, you have made me resolute and bold. 
And now receive your laps o'er-swelPd with gold. [emi. 

Ast. Swell in thy pride, until thou break'st thy heart ! 
Yet come, we'll take her largess e'er we part. \esBeunt^ 



LOVrS MISTRESS. 33 



SCENE V. 



Enter Midas and Apuleius. 

^. Poet, no more; I have enoiagh of Psyche, 
^^'^ sisters and the serpent; all of them 
^08t TillainouB lies ; PU prove it; and unless, 
^0 please myself, and keep mine eyes from sleep, 
Aoolt let me shew thee some of our fine sport. 
Such as we use here in Arcadia, 
/ will endure no longer. 
j4pu. Well, I am pleas'd. 
Wd. PU shew thee in a dance. 
^pu. Art sometimes must give way to ignorance. 

A Dance. 

Enfer Pan, Clown, Swains, and Country- Wenches ; theif 

dance, and ejeeuni. 

Mid. Was not this sport indeed ? 

Apu. My modesty gives thee no reprehension. 
For Pm well pleased with your pastoral mirth ; 
But as thou had'st a power over mine eyes. 
To sit it out with patience ; so lend me 
Thy attentive ears. 

Mid. First, clear thy absurdities ; 
Nay, gross ones too: here Psyche lies abominably. 
And says she has two husbands, the one young. 
The other old ; how canst thou answer this ? 

j4pu. Though thy vun doubts be most familiar 
To these judicious hearers, well experienc'd 

D 



34 LOVE'S bustrbss. 

As well i» matters moral as divine. 
To thee I'll make it plain. 

Mid. I pr'ythee, do. 

j4pu. Did Psyche lie, to say she had two loves ? 
How like art thou to Psyche, she to thee ! 

Mid, To me 1 I scorn her likeness. 

^pu. In this point thou art ; 
For rather than thy sisters shall grow angry, 
To make earth's drossy pleasures stay for thee. 
Thou wilt exclaim, with Psyche, — Cupid's young ! 
The joys of heaven are all too young, too little. 
To be believ'd, or look'd at ; if that fail. 
Thou with the soul wilt say, — my love is old ! 
Divine delights are crooked like old age ; 
Who will not vow, speak, nay swear any thing. 
To have their vain delights serv'd like a king. 

Mid,' 'Tis pretty, but your echoes pleas'd mie best ; 
O, if a man had seen them 1 

j4pu. With a mortal eye none can ; in them is hid this 
mystery; 
Celestial raptures, that to allure the sight. 
Are seen no more than voices being on high. 
Subject unto no weak, and fleshly eye. 

Mid, But why did Cupid hide himself fh)m Pilyche ? 

j4pu, O, who dares pry into those mysteries. 
That heaven would have conceaFd? for .this she's chfu'g'd 
Not to see Cupid'& face, to shun her sisters. 

Mid, Those gadding giris, what didst thou mean by 
them? 

Apu, The restless sins that travel night and day, 



LOVB'S MISTRESS. 36 

ying her blissy the sweet soul to betray. 

Id. Well, by this little I conceive the rest : 
re not greatly if I stay it out ; 

if not lik'd 111 either sleep or flout. 
fpu. So will not these, I hope, before they view 
at horrid dangers Cupid's bride pursue. [e^teunt. 



ACT III. SCENE I. 



JJnter Psyche, in night aitire, with a Lamp and a Razor, 

f^sy. Time's eldest daughter. Night, mother of ^ase, 
"l^^ou gentle aurse, that with sweet lullabies, 
Ccti^e-waking hearts to gentle slumber charm'st 1 
Tliou smooth-cheekM negro. Night, the black-ey'd queen, 
1^1i.at rid'st about the world on the soft backs 
^^^ downy ravens' sleek and sable plumes, 
^^^x^d from thy chariot, alent darkness flings ; 
Ii^ ivhich maa» beast, and bird envelop'd, 
'I^^e their repose and rest; Psyche entreats thee. 
No jar nor sound betray her bold attempt. 

\Cup%d discovered sleeping on a bed. 
^^fi 8ilken^ val that curtains in my doubts 
Give way to these white hand8> these jealous eyes 1 
Sliarp knife prepare for a red sacrifice; 
Bright lamp, conduct me to my love or hate ; 
Make me this night blest or unfortunate ! 
W^ond'rous amazement ! what do I behold? 



36 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

A bow and quiver, these shafts tipt with gold. 

With silver this ? this sluggish arrow's head 

Is, like my heavy heart, compost of lead ; 

Such weapons Cytherea's son doth bear ; 

Psyche were happy if this Cupid were ; 

Malicious sisters, I your envy see ! 

This is no serpent, but a deity : 

What pretty loves, like silken slumbers lie. 

Closing the covers of each crystal eye ; 

Hence, thou prepared instrument of death. 

Whilst Psyche sucks new life from his sweet breath ! • 

Churl beauty, beauteous niggard I thus Pll chide ; 

Why didst thou from mine eyes this glory hide ? 

Ah me ! thou envious light, what hast thou done ? 

Cup, Immortal powers ! oh succour Venus' son! 
What hellish hag hath dropp'd this scalding oil 
On Love's celestial shape ? 

Ps^, Twas Psyche's hand. 

Cup. How durst thou violate my dread command ? 
Venus, my mother, bid me make thee doat 
On some base groom ; and I left her and heaven. 
And with mine own dart wounded my own breast ; 
For all these favours, wouldst thou murder me ? 

Psy. Let my weak sex plead for my great offence. 

Cup, No, for thy sake, this plague pursue thy sex ;- 
You shall have appetites, and hot desires, 
AVhich, though supply'd, shall ne'er be satisfi'd : 
You shall be still rebellious, like the sea. 
And, like the winds, inconstant ; things forbid 
You most shall covet, loath what you should like ; 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 3? 

You shall be wise in wishes^ but, enjoying. 
Shall venture heaven's loss for a little toying. 
Ho, Zephyrus ! 

Enter Zephyrus. 

Pjy^ What will my dear love do ? 

Cup. Hence, touch me not, I'll be no more thy love ; — 
XHscharge my servants from this fairy vale, 
S«sign thy office to the boisterous north, 
Sid famine ride upon his frozen wings, 
"Till they be blasted with his pois'nous breath ; 
^^lusic be tumM to horror, smiles to tears, 
X'leasures to shrieks, felicity to fears. 

Pijf. Why do you plague the place for my offence ? 

Cup, Why for thy sisters' sake sought'st thou my hate ? 
Sut I will be revenged on them and thee. 
On them, for thy sake, on thyself for me. 

Pjy. For pity hear poor Psyche. 

Cup, No ; away ! 

Pty, I have no way but yours; which way you fly, 
^'11 hang upon your wings, or fall and die. ' 

Cup. Soon shalt thou leave thy hold, run Zephyrus : 
"Fetch Boreas — 

A Storm, Enter Boreas. 

Art thou come, my Aquilon? 

Boreas, I charge thee by Orithia's love. 

Lay waste and barren this fair flow'ry grove. 

And make this paradise a den of snakes ; 

For I will have it uglier than hell. 

And none but ghastly screech-owls here shall dwell : 



• 



38 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Breathe winter's storms upon tbe bluslung cheeks < 

Of beauteous Psyche ; mth thy boist'roos breiith^ 

Rend off her silks, and clothe her in torn rags ; 

Hang on her loath'd locks base deformity. 

And bear her to her father 5 leave her there. 

Barren of comfort, great with child of fear ; 

Psyche, farewell I whilst thou with woes art crowned, 

I must go gather helps to cure my wound. [eant. 

Pay. With woes indeed ; those wretches live in woe. 
Whom love forsakes^ and Psyche must do so. 

{A great storm. Exeunt. 

SCENE 11. 
£fiter Clown, Amahyli^is, ^nd^WAivs, 

Clown, Do you hear the news, you animals ? 

}st, Swain. Is it worth the hearing? 

Clown, A question well askM, for it is musical news, 
and therefore worth your ears: Apollo being call'd by 
Venus from heaven, hath ever since kept Admetus his 
sheep, with whom Pan meeting, they fell into contention, 
whether his pipe, or Apollo's harp, could yield the better 
music, and which, withal, could sing the best ; come then, 
my sweet Amaryllis, and take thy place amongst the re8t> 
for this is the day of the trial ; and, among«t; others, I 
heard my father Midas say, that all other business se$ 
apart, he would be at it ; but there is one mischief liitely 
happened. 

1*^ Swain, AVhat's that, I pr'y thee ? 

Clown. Pan hath got a cold, is hoarse, and hath lost his 



LOVCS MISTRESS. ^9 



/ 

M i^oice, and therefore hath choae me to sing in his ]^ace ; 

■ and Phoebus, because he will take no advaiitage, hath 

pick'd out one of his Piftges to do die like for him ; there- 
fore come, make a lane ; for, by this time, they are i^on 
^^eir entrance. 

1^/. Swain. But is it possible, that Pan's pipe dare 
^oixtend with Apollo's harp ? 

down. Yes, that is possible, blind harper* and that my 
^^r^d-pipe shall prove ; make room, . and get you all out 
^^ Xhe lists save I, that am to be one of the combatants. 

-JP'loufish* Enter Apollo, Pan, Admbtus, Petrea, Astioche, 
Mbnetius, Zelotes, and Midas, 

~^an. Who shall be Judge ? 
^po. Admetus. 

Mm. Sacred Apollo, great Rin, pardon me ! 
is a cunning much beyond my skill ; 
erefore I humbly crave to be excused 1 
Apo. Admetus, for thy hospitality, 
oebus will be thy friend, and give thee leave 
this to use thy pleasure. 
Pan. What thinks Phoebus 
i Midas, once of men, now king of beasts. - 
Apo. No better man, so please him undertake it. 
Mid. Yes, Phoebus, Midas will ; and though poor Marsyas , 
^or striving with thee had his skin pull'd off. 
Vet have we swaons, and some too not far off, 
^ coald have said, some near to me in blood. 
Can tickle you for a tune. 
Clown. Meaning me, and I will set out a throat. 



40 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Apo. Is this thy champion ? 

Pan, Yes, and who's for thee ? 

Apo, One of my minutes, hours, days, weeks, or months^ 
Or years, or seasons, that still wait on us. 
And have done, ever since the first of time ; 
Not one can come amiss. 

Mid. Who shall begin? 

Adm. Most voices. 

All, Apollo, Apollo. 

Clown, No matter, though his champion begin ; let me 
alone to come up with the catastrophe. 

All, Silence, silence. 

^ong, 

Phuebus, unto thee we siog, 

O, thou great Idalian king ! 

Thou the god of physic art. 

Of poetry, and archery ; 

We sing unto thee with a heart 

Devoted to thy deity ; 

All bright glory crown thy head, 

Thou sovereign of all piety. 

Whose golden beams and rays are shed 

As well upon the poor as rich, 

For thou alike regardest each ; 

Phoebus, unto thee we sing, 

O thou great Idalian king ! 

Mid, Aye, marry, this was somewhat to the purpose ; 
I needs must say 'twas pretty ; but, god Pan, 
Now let us hear your champion ? 

Pa». Come, 8tan<f forth? 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 41 

Song, — Clown. 

Thou that art call'd the bright Hyperion, 
Wert thou more strong than Spanish Geryon 
That had three heads upon one man, 
Compai*e not with our great god Pan. 

They call thee son of bright Latona, 
But girt thee in thy torrid zona, 
Sweat, baste and broil, as best thou can ; 
Thou art not like our dripping Pan. 

What cares he for the great god Neptune, 
With all the broth that he is kept in ; 
Vulcan or Jove he scorns to bow to, 
Hermes, or the infernal Pluto. 

then thou that art the heavens' bright eye, 
Or burn, or scorch, or broil, or fry. 
Be thou a god, or be thou man^ 
Thou art not like our frying Pan. 

They call thee Phoebus, god of day. 

Years, months, weeks, hours, of March and May ^ 

Bring up thy army in the van. 

We'll meet thee i^th our pudding Pan. 

Thyself iu thy bright chariot settle. 
With skillet arm'd, brass-pot or kettle. 
With jug, black-pot, with glass or can. 
No talking to our warming Pan. 

Thou hast thy beams thy brows to deck, 
Thou hast thy Daphne at thy beck ; 
Pan hath his horns. Syrinx, and Phillis, 
And I, Pan's swain, my Amaryllis. 



42 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Adm. You, Midas, have heard iM>th ; these only wait 
Your just and upright sentence. 

Mid, Is Phoebus pleased } 

Apo, Pleased. 

Mid, And is Pan content \ 

Pan. Content. 

Clown, Now if my father can but censure as well as I 
sing, the town's ours. 

Mid. Yes, son, I can; and that most learnedly; 

Song, — Midas. 

Thy harp to Pan's pipe, yield, god Phoebus, 
For 'tis not uovi as in diebus 
lUis; Pan all the year we follow. 
But semel in anno ridet Apollo ; 
Thy quirister cannot come near 
The voice of this our chanticleer ; 
Then leave off these thy horning rays. 
And give to Panihe prick and praise ; 
Thy colour change, look pale and wan. 
In honour of the great goS Pan. 

All. A sentence, a sentence, a Pan, a Pah. 

Apo. Henceforth be all your rural music such, 
Made out of tinkers'-pans^ and kettle-drums ; 
And never henceforth may your fields be grac'd 
With the sweet music of Apollo's lyre : 
Midas, for thee, may thy ears longer grow. 
As shorter still thy judgment ! dulness and dotage 
Be only governed with those reverend hairs ; 
Let all like thee, that as they grow in time. 



LOVE'6 MISTRiSSS. 43 

Decay in knowledge^ have that old man's curse. 

To be twice children : for thy squeaking son^ 

May all thy 'state thou leav'st him at thy death. 

Be to siof hallads through Arcadia, 

And them to the like tunes. Farewell, Admetus ! 

My music lies unquestion'd i what's amiss 

Is not in us, but in their ignorance ; 

Thus undisparag'd, Phoebus leaves the place. 

And with them, to succession, my disgrace. [eirii, 

Adm. Phoebus b gone displeas'd. 

Pan, Still may he be so ! 

Mid, Midas, I'm sure, has judg'd with equity. 

A §torm. Enter Psyche and Boreas. 

Clown, But see, father ! see, god Pan ! if in revenge, he 
hath not sent a blaistering wind to blow us all hei^ce ; 'tis 
Boreas, 'tis lkH*eas. 

Pan, C^Tf^, Midas, come, swains, till this storm be past. 
Let us away to. shelter^ \£afeunt Pan, Midas, and Swains. 

Pit/, Where art thou. Psyche ? how art thou deform'd ? 
What air affords thee breath, what men be these ? 
Where shaU I hide me ? let no human eye 
Behold me thus disfigur'd, and asham'd : 
My father, brothers, and my sisters too. 
That wrought my falj, what shall poor Psyche do ? 

Adm. What bare anatomy of grief is thi^> 
That glads mine ear vnih sound of Psyche's name ? . 

Psy, 'Tis her own tongue, the herald of her shame : 
Father Admetus, sisters, pity me ! 

Adm, Thou art no child of mine. 



44 LOVfi'S MISTRESS. 

Ast, Spurn her away, 
Tis some infectious strumpet, and her breath 
Will blast our cheeks ; her sight is worse than death. 

Psy, I did not use you thiis, nor spurn you back^ 
When on the nimble wings of Zephyrus, 
You were transported into Cupid's vale ; 
Your entertunment then deserved more right. 
Than, like a dog, thus spurn me from your sight. 
Sisters ! 

Pet. Out, hag ! we scorn thy sister-hood. 

Psy. You scorn me too ; nay, then, at last I see. 
Pride will not look on base deformity : 
Father Admetus, pity wretched Psyche 1 

Adm. Out, impudence ! if once again thy tongue 
Mangle the reputation of my girl, 
111 have it straight torn out : hence with the impostor ! 

Psy, Us'd like a dog, and by a father's doom, 
Dragg'd from his presence ! how am I transform'd ? 
Ill try my brothers next, upon my knees. 

[she kneels first to one Brother, and then to the other, 

ZeL Depart the place I for me, I know thee not. 

Psy. Oh me I how quickly wretches are forgot ! 

Men. Wretched, away ! 

Psy. Away ; all cry, away : 
Baseness and pride in one place cannot stay. 
Astioche, kind sister ! for old loves. 
Resolve my father that I am his child ; 
Put him in mind of Phoebus' oracle. 
And leaving me upon the barren rock ; 
Remember how you came unto my bower, 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 45 

Andiio^^ my servants fill'd your laps with gold ; 
And last, remember how, by your advice, 
1 made attempt to strike my husband dead, 
Ab be wag sleeping. Do you know me now ? 
Thence grew my misery. 

^*^' Yes, fool ! and my great heart 
Joys in thy fall ; and, father, now I better 
Surrey her, my mind gives me this is Psyche. 

P^f' I am of her thought too ; and yet much wonder, 
How such a beauty should be so deform'd. 

^dm. None shall persuade me to't ; she's none of mine 
^^t tells me I have any part in her. 

Music. Cupid descends. 

Cup, Admetus, stay ! chide thy conceit ! it oflfers 

^rong unto thy daughter Psyche. 
Psy. O, what heavenly tongue 

H^ill once vouchsafe to sound poor Psyche's name, 

Tom with disgrace, doubly exposed to shame. 
. Cup. Psyche, his tongue, whose charge had'st thou obey'd. 
Thy prosp'rous state had not been so betray'd ; 
Nor had'st thou been a subject to that shame 
Which now attends thee. 

Pty. Cjipid, my dear lord. 
Pardon my guilt, have pity on my sorrow 1 

Cup. I cannot ; no, I dare not : heaven, and earth, 
The destinies, and all the immortal powers. 
Have, with th.e iron pen of fate, writ down 
Thy certain pain. Did I not give thee charge. 
To taste the pleasures of immortal love. 



46 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

But not to wade too deep in mystery? 
Could not my heavenly company suffice 
To cheer thy soul ; but thou, with earthly eyes. 
Must see my face, and view my real beauty. 
Against my charge, thy love, and human duty? 

Psy. I do entreat. [ihe ImeeU to Cupid. 

Cup, Arise ; kneel not to me ! 
But thank thy sisters ; they apparel'd thee 
In that distractfiil shape*. Psyche, farewell ! 
I'll mourn in heaven, to see thy pains in hell. 

[Cupid awcends, 

Adm. Poor miserable child ! instead of tears. 
My heart weeps blood ; I am confounded quite : 
I have three daughters; thou of all the rest, 
Had'st in my true conceptions greatest share. 
For which, I call'd thee Psyche, that's the soul. 
For as my soul I lov'd thee ; now I abjure 
All interest in thy birth; hence from my court ! 
My hand shall ne^er lay blessing on thy head. 
Nor my tongue grace thee with a daughter's name ; 
Thou art not mine, but the base birth of shame. 

Pay* Oh whither shall a wretch convert her eyes. 
When her own father shall her tears despise ? 

Enier Mercury. . 

Mer, Attend, Arcadia)is, 
The proclamation of the Paphian Queen. 
Adm, When Hermes speaks, we are bound to all 

attendance. 
Mer, Oh yes ! if any can bring Psyche unto Venus • 



LOVrS MISTRESa ^ 

^(<* Psyche^ whosi you are sent to detk, gtaads there. 

Mer. Then here ends Mercury's commisuon . 
^Psyche, in Venus' name, I do arrest thee. 
For wrongs to her and Ciq»id» 

P^. I obey 
YourJiigh arrest, and widi a humble suit. 
Prostrate mjwsM to Cytherea's wrath. 
Where's aogry Venus ? 

Mer. Frantic in this grove. 
Mourning' Adonis' death, and here she comes. 

Enter Venus. 

Fen. Accursed bow ! why didst thou not defend him ? 
He shall not die ; Adonis still shall live. 
ApoUo ! gentle Pbcebus t mount thy chariot. 
And in his cold breast breathe celestial fire. 
For all earth's simples cannot cure his wound ; 
Or, if he must expire, command the Muses 

To ghtt my love immortal memory; — 

HmI thou fbund Psyche ? oh that in this rage, 

I could but now forget hw. 
Mer. See where she stands. 

With down-cast eyes, and weak up-heaved bands. 
Fen, Just of my height, state, and my proportion ; 

And were her pristine beauty lent her back. 

Might, in the rabble*s judgment, rival me. 

Strumpet ! profaner of our sacred rites ! 

How hast thou wrong'd the, and abus'd my son, 

By aiming at my honour and his life. 



4S LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Piy, Dread Paphian Queen^ for lovely Cupid's sake. 
And this rich burthen in my wretched womb. 
Pity poor Psyche ! 

Fen. Hast thou play'd the strumpet. 
And, for thy sin's sake, must I pardon thee? 
No, that alone hath made me merciless. [Femu beais her. 
Psy, Help me, dear father I sisters ! Mercury ! 
Adm. I dare not speak for thee. 
Ast. Nor I. 
Pet. Nor I. 

Psy. Poor Psyche ! born unto adversity. 
Mer. Be not so bitter, madam, for his sake. 
By whom you are made a grandam. 

Fen. I prove a grandam to a strumpef s brat 1 
Go, Mercury ! and from some gamer fetch 
Five measures of five several sorts of grain ; 
Despatch it, Hermes 1 
Mer. What will Venus do ? 

Fen. Thou shalt know better when thou back retum'st. 

\eant Mercury. 
You are young Venus, and the Queen of Love, 
That had th' ambition to be Cupid's wife. 
And marry with a god. Ho, Boreas ! 
Since Mercury is slack in his return. 
Wind her enticing locks about thy arm. 
And tossing her loose carcase in the air. 
Fling it into the bosom of some storm. 
And grind her bones to powder in the fall. 
Psy. Pity me, Venus I father, plead for me ! 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 49 

Enter Mercury, with grain, 

f^en, 'Tis well doiie, Hermes; hast thou brought the 

grain? 
Mer, I have 

Ven. Then, minion, here's your task ; 
liook on all these ; see, thus I mingle them. 
Piy^ And what must miserable Psyche do ? 
Ven, To several heaps with thine own hands divide 
£ach sev^l seed, e'er the sun kiss the west. 
Or look for death ; go, and when that is done^ 
PU ride to Paphos and enlarge my son. 
Whom yet I keep close prisoner in my closet. \emt, 

Adm, Psyche, adieu ! none «an reverse thy doom. 
Aat. Not I. 

Mer^, Nor we. {exeunt all but Mercury and Psyche, 

Psy. I wish the earth my tomb. 
Mer, Take patience. Psyche, and be comforted. 
Psy, Comfort ! alas ! what comfort can she find 
Whose fi&ther and dear friends prove so unkind ? 

Mer, For Cupid's sake, who, for thy love, now wears 
A pair of golden shackles on his heels. 
This Mercury will do ; fly hence to Paphos, 
And fetch him from his late imprisonment. 
Then tell him of his mother's tyranny ; 
That done, we two will teach thee, without pain. 
In several heaps how to divide this grain. [ea^emt. 

SCENE III. 

Enter Midas and Apuleius. 
Mid. And where have I been, think*st thou, Apuleius ? 



50 LOVB^ MISTRESS. 

Didst thou not miss me ? 

Apu. Yes^ I did not sleep^ as thou didst, in thy judgment. 

Mid. Then, I perceive. 
Thou know'st how I miuntain'd our rural music. 
Preferring it before Apollo's harp. 

Apu. Yes, and by that infer, thou art all earthly. 
Nothing celestial in thee. 

Mid. All's one for that ; now for your moral. 

Apu, VfWX thou stay it out ? 

Mtd. No, 'tis too dull. 
Unless thou'lt quicken me with some conceit ; 
Thy Psyche's sadness hath made me so heavy. 
That Morpheus steals upon me. 

Apu. What would'st thou see ? 

Mid. Thy little Cupid I like pretty well. 
And would see something else that he can do. 
More than belongs to Psyche. 

Apu. Well, to keep thee awake, 
rU shew thee now love's contrarieties. 
Which was more than my promise . 

A Dance. 

Enter a King and a Beggar, a young Man and an old ^oman, a 
lean Man and a fat JVoman; they dance, and exeunt. 

Mid. Aye, marry, this was somewhat like indeed ; 
Here's young and old, here's fot and lean, the beggar 

and the king; 
Love hath power over all. 
But to your moral now ; why comes your Psyche 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 51 

A^ith a sharp razor, and a bnming lamp, 
I'o murder Capid ? then he wakes and chafes, 
And flings the house out at windows : was't not so ? 

j4pu. I'll tell thee ; she, eharm'd by her sisters' tongues 
Thinks her fair love a serpent ; and, grown mad/ 
Would murder Cupid> tear even Jove from heaven; 
Yet note the greatness of celestial mercy ; 
One glimpse, one lamp, one spark, one divine thought 
Plucks l)ack her arm, and more enflames her breast 
^%^th amorous raptures ; but, because, poor soul ! 
She mm'd to search forbidden mysteries, 
[er eyes are blasted, Cupid loathes her sight, 
[e leaves her ugly, and his blessed bower 
S's rent in pieces ; for heaven seems to fall 
"^^hen our poor souls turn diabolical. 

Mid. For that 'twixt Pan and Phoebus, I know best, 
^E^or I was there an umpire : but resolve me, 
"^^y left he Psyche when she lost his love, 

^et moum'd when she was left of all her friends ? 
Apu. All bid the wretched soul run to despair, 
len lep'rous sin deforms her ; but even then, 
^\^en the gods hate her, when she's scom'd of men, 
"^Ihipid hangs in the air, his divine eyes 
Shed tears for her, comforts her miseries. 
Mid. Yet he forsook her too. 
Apu, Tin Psyche be made fair, and angel-white, 
^he's not to stand in Cupid's glorious sight. 
Mid Well, I am answered) 
Apu. For thy part» Midas, 



52 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Laufi^h^ sleep, or flout ; nay, snarl, and cavil too ; 

Which none of these here met I hoi)e will do. [eopeunC, 



ACT IV. SCENE I. 



Enter Vulcan. 

Ful. Within here, ho> Pyracmon I when, you knave ? 
Take in Adonis' quiver, and his bow. 
And hang them up in Venus' armory. 
By Mars his gauntlet, and Achilles' sword. 
Ha, ha, ha ! I laugh until my sides be sore. 
For joy that my wife's dandiprat is dead ; 
And now, my Cyclops, lay't on lustily ; 
There's half a hundred thunder-bolts bespoke. 
Which argues that the world is full of sin ! 
Neptune hath broke his mace, and Juno's coach 
Must be new mended, and the hind-most wheels 
Must have two spokes set in ; Phoebus' fore-horse 
Must have two new shoes calk'd, and one remove ; 
Pan's sheep-hook must be mended shortly too ; 
Ply it of all hands, we have much to do. 

1st, Cyclop, within. 

Ut, Cyc. Master, here's one of Ceres' husbandmen 
Would have a plough-share and a scythe new ground. 

FuL New ground ! new halter'd ! he shall stay his turn 
ShaU we deceive the gods and goddesses. 
For a plough-jogging hind ? 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 53 

2nd. Cyc, Here's Mercury^ — to have his caduceus mended. 

VuL He shall stay. 

3f rf. Cyc. Here's Ganymede, 
To have his master's hunting-nag new shod ; 
And Mars his lackey, with a broken gorget. 

4M. Cyc, And here's a clown for hob-nails. 

FuL Here's the devil and all ! 
What would they have me do ? I toil and moil 
Worse than a mill-horse ; scarce have kept a minute 
This fortnight, and odd days ; I have not time 
To sit and eat ; but 111 give over all. 
And live upon my wife, as others do ; 
They say, she hath good takings ; e'er I'll endure it, 
I will do any thing : when I was made a smith. 
Would I had been a bear-ward ! 
4th, Cyc, What shall we do first ? 

FuL Why, first, go hang yourselves 1 
I keep a dozen journeymen at least. 
Besides my Cyclops, and my prentices, 
Yet 'twill not fadge ; I think, my little -boy 
Cupid must blow the bellows, and my wdfe 
Venus must leave her trade, and turn she-smith ; 
Yet 'twould scarce quit the cost ; she'd spend me more 
In nectar and sweet balls to scow'r her cheeks, 
iSmudg'd and besmear'd with coal-dust and with smoke. 
Than all her work would come to : 
But soft, what shackl'd runaway is this ^ 

Enter Cupid, in fetters. 
Why, how now, Cupid ? 



54 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Cup, Crawling softly to you ; 
You are my dad^ and I am come to see you. 

f^uL How came you out of credit with your mother ? 

Cup, Ask me how I crept into credit rather ; 
For do you see, sir, thus the matter stands ; 
I am indebted, and thus enter'd bands* ' 
To be forthcoming. 

Fitl. You're a young whore-master ; about your wench 
I have heard all : but where's your mother now ? 

Cup' Binding up myrtles for Adonis' tomb. 
Whom she hath now tum'd to a hyacinth. 

Ful, And what's become of Psyche? where is she? 

Cup, I parted but even now with Mercury, 
Who told me that my mother had enjoin'd her 
To part five measures of commixed grain 
Into five heaps, which seem'd impossible ; 
But he and I sent forth the toiling ants. 
Who, like so many earnest labourers. 
Did it with ease, for they were numberless : 
Then with his cunning having pick'd the lock 
Of Venus* closet door, he set me free; 
And I am come, dear father, to entreat 
You file o£f these my bolts. 

Ful. Cupid, I dare not; Venus gave me charge 
Not to take o£f thy shackles. 

Cup. Father, sweet honey sugar-candy dad. 
Indeed, indeed you shall. 

FuL This colloguing wag 
Will not be answered : come, set up your leg ; 

* Bonds. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 55 

Venus will sole me by the ears for this. 
Cupi'So, noy I warrant you. 

Enter Psyche, wUh a vial,. 

VuL So, now 'tis done; thou'rt free; but who 

comes here ? 
She's an^ry sure, for see how big she looks ; 
What a g^reat breadth she bears ; methinks, a woman 
Becomes no ornaments she wears so well 
As a great belly; therefore, 'tis much pity 
They should want things to make them look so pretty. 

Psy. Unhappy Psyche ! Venus most obdure. 
And never satiate with my endless cares, 
When, by the helps of silly labouring ants, 
I bad ended the first task, her cruelty 
Binds me to worse disaster. 

Cup^ Once, my love, 
Had'st thou been true to Cupid, not the least 
Of all these evils had assaulted thee; 
And till my mother's anger be' appeas'd, 
I dare do nothing: yet, for our first love's sake. 
Make me acquainted with thy second task. 
And as I may, be sure, I'll further it 

Psy, Let my lips kiss this earth whereon you tread. 
In low submission ; for her late injunction 
Transcends all human possibility ; 
This vial I must fill at that spring-head. 
From whence Gocytus flows, that fearful stream. 
Which feeds the river Styx. 

Cup, Be advis'd by me : 



56 LOVE'S MISTUBSS. 

Not far from Tsenarus, whose barren top 
Is crowned with clouds of smoke, there lies a mead,. 
O'ergrown with osiers, briars, and sycamores ; 
In this Jove's eagle, on whose dusky wings 
Ganymede flew to heaven,, obscures hiinself 
From jealous Juno's wrath ; enquire him out f 
Tell him thy grief, and that thou cam'st from mef 
From this hard task ho^ will deliver thee. 

Psy. Thanks, glorious deity ; upon my knees, 
Press'd down with this rich burthen of thy love, 
I beg that you will mediate 'twixt my errors> 
And your stem mother's wrath. 

Gup. Well, get thee gone r 
Tis I will front her indignation. [ecnt PtycJie, 

m 

Enter Pan and Venus. 

Pan. This way he ran with shackles on his heels,. 
And said he would to Vulcan* O, but see 
Where he stands cogging with him^ 

Fen. Now, you runaway. 
You disobedient, thou unhappy wag. 
Where be the golden fetters I left you bound in ? 

Cup. True, for my good behaviour; but you see 
My bands are cancelPd and your son set free. 

Fen. V\\ whip you for't, with nettles steep'd in wine* 

Cup. So youll nettle me, and I must smart for't ? 
But when your own flames burn, and you desire 
With him, or him, to glut yoUr appetite. 
Then, gentle Cupid, then, my pretty son. 
My love, my dear, my darling, and what not» 



LOYE^ MISTRESS; 57 

Till you have had your will. 

Fen. With his flattering tongue 
He still prevents my anger : but for thee. 
As crooked is thy manners as thy shape ; 
I thought, great fool, you durst not harbour him. 

Viil. No more I did, sweet wife. 

Cup. Sweet mother queen. 
Buss my black dad, for all that he hath done 
Was love to you, and kindness to your son. 

VuL Speak for me. Pan, as e'er thou hop'-st to havef 
Thy broken hook well mended. 

Pan. When, can'st tell ? 
I tell thee, I must first have, besides that, 
A dozen of branding-irons to mark my flock : 
The time draws near, sheep-shearing is at hand; 
Besides, two of my Satyrs falling out 
About a lamb, one of them burst his horn ; 
It must be tipt too ; thou art well acquainted 
With tipping horns. 

Vul. Ha, horns I with horns ! how's that ? 

Pan, Nay, ask your wife ; I cannot speak of horns ^ 
But stiU you take the last word to yourself; 
For Venus makes, and Vulcan wears. 
And Vulcan takes, and Venus bears. 

VuL Vulcan wear horns ! 

Ven. No, sweetheart, you mistake ; 
Pan is the forked god, with horns was born. 
And ever since, his tongue runs of the horn. 

Pan, Speak, shall I have my sheep-hook, and those 
irons ? 



5S 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 



FuL Yes, Pan, you shall; 
But yet, those horns have struck deep to my heart. 

Pan. Take heed they grow not upward to your head. 
And tipping horns, your brows wear horns indeed. 

Enter Psyche. 

But who comes here? Vulcan, is this your wench? 
Thou had'st best look to him, Venus. 

Psy, Like your obedient servant, that lays down 
Her life and labour at her mistress' feet^ 
So comes poor Psyche, held between the arms 
Of fear and duty ; fear, dishearfning me^ 
Would pluck me back ; but duty, being more strong. 
Bids me go forward, bending my weak knee 
Before the shrine of sacred majesty. 
Accept my selrvice, who, to gain your grace. 
Would yield myself to ashy death's embrace. 

Ven, Is this that water of th' infernal lake ? 

Psy, This is that water, whose infectious torrent 
Runs from Gocytus into Phlegethon, 
Infernal Styx, and the black Acheron, 
Dear goddess i 

Ven, Art thou not a fawning counterfeit? 
First, I employed thee to divide my grain, 
A task impossible for mortal hands ; 
This second as more hard, and yet 'tis done ; 
Thou work'st by sorcery ; but no damn'd spell 
Shall keep me from my wrath — thy soul from hell. 

VuL Venus, sweet mouse ; nay, pr'ythee do not chide ! 
Forgive, as I forgive thee. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 59 

f^en. Polt-foot, peace I 

Cvp. Sweet mother, let your ire be mollified ; 
^ince for her fault she hath endur'd this pain, 
Danish all hate and make her blest again. 

f^en. Again, I charge thee, not to speak for her : 
^nce more Pll try thee further, since thy heart 
Is wedded to such hellish sorcery : 
Hie to Proserpina, the black-brow'd queen ; 
^11 send thee on my embassy to hell : 
'^eU her that sickness, with her ashy hand, 
H!ath swept away the beauty from my cheeks, 
^T%A I desire her send me some of hers. 
*^^tch me a box of beauty then from hell ; 
^liat's thy last labour — ^urge not a reply ; 
« my command and live ; refuse, and die. 
Cup, For my sake, my best mother, pity her. 
Ven. For thee, I hate her ; and for her, hate thee ! 
Pan. Nay, gentle Venus, be more merciful, 
or her great belly's sake. 
Ven, For that alone 
^^11 hate you all, till she be fled and gone ! 

Psy. Then go I must ; and, going, ne'er return ! 
^h, Cupid, my inconstancy to thee 
Is cause of this my endless misery ! 

Cup, Withdraw thee. Psyche, till the rest be gone ; 
Anon Pll speak with thee. [ea^it Psyche, 

Enter Mercury. 

Mer, Venus, Vulcan, Cupid, and god Pan, 
I summon you t' appear at Ceres' plain. 



60 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

To entertain the fair Proserpina, 

For whom I now am sent : I must to hell 

About Jove's embassy : Venus, fEU*ewell. [e^fii. 

Ven, Hermes, farewell; we'll meet at Ceres' plenteous 
court. 
Come, Cupid, follow me. 

Pan. Vulcan cannot ^o. 

VuL Yes, but 'tis best to keep behind a shrew. 

Pan. Then put her in before : on, Venus ; go. 

\eweunt all hut Cupid. 

Cup. Psyche, approach ; but do not come too near. 
That pride thou hast already bought too dear. 

Enter VsYCHB. 

Pay. Oh, pity Psyche ! she is sent to hell. 

Cup. It is the soimd of hell wakes pity's eye. 
Else I had left thee to more misery. 
My love's not done, though thou art quite undone. 
Unless I arm thee 'gainst the darts of death. 
Which hell aims at thee. 

Pay. Let thy sacred breath — 

Cup. Wound me no more with words, (or they but grieve 
me; 
Now mark, what on thy journey must relieve thee ! 
First, hie thee to the banks of Acheron : 
Thou can'st not miss the way, 'tis broad, and worn 
With trampling of ten thousand passengers; 
There shalt thou find hell's churlish ferryman. 
His name is Charon ; there's to pay his hire ; 
Take heed thou lose it not, for, doing so. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 61 

He'll beat^ and leave thee on the shore of woe : 
Being ferried over^ thou shalt spy hell's gates ; 
Thou need'st not knock, the/re open night and day ; 
Give Cerberus a sop, and pass away. 

Psy. And what's that Cerberus ? 

Cup, Porter of hell. 
Who must at thy return be brib'd again. 
My great desire to help thee, hinders thee ; 
I should have told thee, when in Charon's barge. 
Thou art wafting o'er the dreadful waves of Styx, 
^n aged man, with a pale countenance, 
Jlis name's Oblivion, swimming in the flood, 
Will heave his wither'd arms, and cry, help ! help ! 
Save me from drowning ! Stret<;h not forth thy hand ; 
Tor if thou dost, thou ne'er retum'st to shore ; 
Thou wilt forget my love, see me no more. 

Psy, I'll stop my ears agsdnst Oblivion's cry. 

Cup, Being landed, thou shalt see old wrinkl'd hags, 
Spinning black threads, whilst Folly reels them up. 
3Ie will let fall his reel, and pray thee reach it ; 
!But stoop not. They will likewise beckon thee 
To sit down by them ; but to spin a thread 
Take heed; doing so, from me thou art banished. 

Pnf, I'll shun their baits. 

Cup, Being enter'd Pluto's court. 
They all will 'tice thee with a thousand trains : 
Shun all, and neither sit nor eat with them ; 
. Only deliver what thou art enjoin'd ; 
Receive the box of beauty, and be gone ; 
Which still keep shut j let not thy daring eye 



62 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Behold the wealth that in the box doth lie. 

Psy. Dread Cupid — 

Cup. Now, farewell ; had'st thou but obe/d me. 
Thy face had still been lovely, and mine eye 
Doated on thee with heavenly jealousy. {exeunt. 

SCENE II. 
Enter Clown and Swains. 

\st, Swain. And what dost thou think of Cupid, now ? 

Clown. Do not think I am so stupid. 
But to think well of ^reat god Cupid. 

2nd. Swain. And what of poets ? 

Clown. As poets, as of potentates ; for, since I pla/d the last 
prize against Phoebus, in which I may say of myself, tfem, 
vidi, vici ; I have been so troubled with a poetical itch, that 
I can scratch you out rhymes, and ballads, songs, and son- 
nets, odes, and madrigals, till they bleed again. 

\8t. Swain. Then thou art reconcird to Homer. 

Clown. Homer was honorable ; Hesiod, heroical; Virgil, 
a vicegerent ; Naso, notorious ; Martial, a provost ; Juve- 
nal, a jovial lad ; and Persius, a paramount. What do I 
think of poetry, of which myself am a profest member I 

2nd. Swain. And may be very well spared, and yet the 
body never the worse : but thou may'st see what becomes 
of railing against Cupid : what a sweet mistress he hath 
put upon thee. 

Clown. Who, my Amaryllis ? - 

1*^ Swain. Yes, the veriest dowdy in all Arcadia; even ♦ 
Mopsa, compared with her, shews like a Madam ; first, she's 
old 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 63 

Cloif^*^. It was very well swd, to say — first, because she was 
Ijeforc \xs J and for old, is not age reverend ? and therefore 
in my ^yes she's honorable. 
!«/. Sttain. And wrinkled. 

Cloton, Is't not the fashion ? do not our Gentiles wear 

their bair crisped, the Nymphs their gowns pluted, and 

the ra\vns their stockings, for the more grace, wrinkled ? 

doth not the earth shew well when 'tis plough'd, and the 

land best when it lies in furrows ? 

\sL Swain, Besides, she hath a horrible long nose. 

Clown. That's to defend her lips ; but thou sinner to 
sense, and renegade to reason, do'st thou blame length in 
any thing i do*st thou not wish thy life long, and know'st 
thou not that truth comes out at length ; when all our joys 
are gone and past, doth not long-look'd for come at last ; if 
any of our Nymphs be wrong'd, will she not say, 'tis 'long 
of me, 'tis 'long of thee or 'long of him ; if they buy any 
commodity by the yard, do they not wish it long ? your 
advocate wishes to have a law suit hang long ; and the poor 
client, be his cloak never so short and thread-bare, yet 
would be glad to wear it longer. 
No marri'd man, but doth his wife much wrong, - 
Tho' he himself be short, t'have nothing long. 

2ni, iSwain. The short and the long oft is, she's an ugly 
creature, make of her what thou can'st. 

Chum, Make of her what I can ? O that all, or any of 
you, could, like me, look upon her with the eyes of poetry ! 
I wonld then let you know what I have made of her. 

Ut. Swain, Pr'ythee, let's hear't. 

Clown. Then listen hither, O you imps of ignorance 1 



64 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

O tell me, have you ever seeo. 
Since you were born, unto this day, 
Which is long since, a wit so green. 
And cover'd with a head so grey. 

To praise her still my muse*s will is, • 
Although therein I have no cunning. 
Yet is the nose of Amaryllis 
Like to a cock, long and still running. 

Her eyes, though dim, do seem clear. 
And they of rheum can well dispose. 
The one doth blink, the other blear. 
In pearl-drops striving with her nose. 

Her breasts are like two beds of bliss, 
Or rather like two lean cow's udders ; 
Which shews that she no changeling is. 
Because they say, such were her mother's. 

Those few teeth left herjn her head. 
Now stand like hedgestakes ill her gums ; 
Full of white dandrif is her head. 
She puts the cobbler down for thumbs. 

Her sides be long, her belly lank. 
And of her legs what should I say ? 
But that she feels weH iu the flank. 
And both her feet themselves display. 

Ist. Swain. All the Homers in Asia could never have come 
so near the business. 

Clown. From head to foot, for her stature and years, pattern 
her in all Arcadia : say she be a foul beast in your eyes, yet, 
she is my Hyren ; and shewing foul to others, and fiedr to 
me, I shall live the happier, and she the honester : but I 
have a remedy against all this, in spite of Cupid. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 65 

2^. ^moain. What's that ? 

Claii^t^^ I iiear Psyche, his mistress, is sent to hell for a 

box of l>eauty ; 'tis but waylayin^^ of her, and taking it from 

Uer, th^n Amaryllis shall compare with any other she that 

dare. [eweunt, 

SCENE III. 

Enier Midas and Apuleius. 

Mid, This last I likM, and had it all been such. 
Only a mere discourse 'twixt swains and clowns. 
It then had pleased me : now, some quaint device. 
Some kickshaw, or other, to keep me waking. 

^pu. Then, by the leave of these spectators here, 
Pll suit me to thy low capacity : 
Of Vulcan's Cyclops I'll so much entreat. 
That thou shalt see them on their anvil beat ; 
Ti8 music fitting thee, — ^for who but knows. 
The vulgar are best pleas'd with noise and shows ? 

A Dance of Vulcan and hU Cyclops. 

Jlit(/. WeU, this I like : 
Now let me know the cream of this conceit ; 
Why grain? why measures? why the number five ? 
Your moral, sir, for that? 

Apu, The number five, our senses doth include ; 
Those several grains, our several sorts of sins, 
Wluch, hke those seeds, to count, are infinite ; 
And so commixM, that to distinguish them. 
It much transcends human capacity. 
Mid. And then, those ants; what did'st thou mean by them ? 

F 



66 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Apu, By those are meant our recollections. 
And labyrinths, still busied in the search 
Of what hath past, and, were it possible. 
By drawing them into their former heaps> 
To pay to each, indebted penitence ; 
But all in vain, for this can never be 
Without true love, guided by Mercury : 
But for my scene, how do'st thou relish that ? 

Mid, As ribble-rabble, and I know not what; 
A vial must be fill'd with Stygian drops, 
And that an eagle must for Psyche fetch. 
And all this, to what purpose ? 

Apu, What to thee. 
And such like drones, seems to be most absurd. 
Is to the wise, perspicuous and most plain. 
When Psyche hath transgressed, and her offence. 
Almost past pardon, merits Cupid's wrath. 
Then woes, like waves, follow each other's neck ; 
Then must she fetch a glass of Stygian water, 
A vial fill'd with true repentant tears ; 
And that she cannot fill, nor fetch from thence. 
But by the eagle's help. Heaven's providence. 

Mid. But for her voyage into hell, can'st make me 
Believe, that once there, she can come from thence ? 

Apu. Can'st thou be silent, and but apprehend 
Thou now behold'st her sit in Charon's boat» . 
Oblivion reaching up his wretched hands. 
To crave her help^ and then by folly woo'd. 
Next by the idle sisters ; these things past, 
Ent'ring hell gates, whither thy imagination 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 67 

May bring her ? Howsoever^ gentlemen^ 

I hope you will that better understand ; 

We'll but affright her with Hell's Courts and then 

On your wing'd thoughts bring her to earth again. 



ACT V. SCENE I. 



Enter Pluto, Proserpine, Minos, i£Acus, Rhadamant, Cha- 
ron, Mercury, and Cerberus. 

Plu. Fair Malays son, declare your embassy. 

Mer, Wheat-crowned Ceres, harvest's sovereign. 
And mother to the fair Proserpina, 
Sends greeting to her son, hell's awful king ; 
Letting him know this day Latona's son 
Enters the first house of his zodiac ; 
And with his gilt beams welcomes in the spring : 
This day the virgins of Sicilia, 
Old wives, young children, soldiers, citizens. 
Princes and prelates, on Cephisus' banks. 
Are gather'd in well order'd multitudes. 
Dancing in choruses, singing mirthful lays. 
Such as lambe, Meganira's msdd^ 
Sung, when she moum'd her daughter's ravishment ; 
This day hath Ceres called a sessions. 
Where Proserpine must be ; but ere she leave 
The black imperial throne of this low world. 
Psyche, the daughter to th' Arcadian king. 
Must do a message to her deity. 

Pro, We know the intent of that great influence. 



6S LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

With all the purpose of the Paphian Queen ; 
She means proud Psyche never shall return. 
And we i^ilf keep her : Charon, fetch her o'er. 

Cha. She's come already. 

Min, Then conduct her in. 

Cha, Hell's full enough of shrews : if she be fair, 
I know she's curst; pray, let her tarry there ; 
A curs'd quean's tongue the Very fiends still fear. 

Plu, Fetch her, I say 5 Venus shall be reveng'd. 

^ac. Go, Charon ; wait upon him, Cerberus. 

Min. If she perform the customs of our courts 
Being sent on message from supernal powers. 
We can then with no justice keep her here. 

Rha. True, Minos : 'tis the law of hell and fate ; 
Yet, Cerberus and Charon, get you gone. 
Tell Psyche, that hell's king, and Proserpine, 
With Minos bench'd, iSacus and Rhadamant, 
Upon their black tribunals, send for her $ 
You, Furies, with your envious eyes, attend. 
Lest Psyche 'gainst our customs shall offend. 

Cha. Come, Cerberus ; come, hags ; fetch Psyche in. 

Cer. Yes, and for all her stains and leprosy. 
Me thinks I now could eat her. 

[eofeunt Charon and Cerberus. 

Mer. Psyche is well instructed, Rhadamant ; 
Her husband Cupid gave her certain rules 
For her uncertain journey. 

Enter Charon, Cerberus, and Psyche. 
AIL Here she comes. 
Cer. My sop ; hast thou thy naulum, ferry-man ? ' 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 69 

Cha, I have. 

Plu. Psyche, stand forth ; nay, poor soul, tremble not. 

Min, How came this woman over Acheron ? 
Reach'd she not hand to help Oblivion ? 

Cha, No ; yet the wretch made a piteous cry ; 
Yet she look'd on him with a scornful eve. 

« 

^ac. How did she pass the hags that spun the threads 
Of idle Folly, in the path of hell ? 

Cha, They all desir'd her help ; but she <ieny'd 
To set a finger unto Folly's thread. 

Plu. She hath done well; why kneel'st thou on the 
ground ? 

Psy, I kneel to Proserpine, for I am sent 
By sacred Venus for a box of beauty. 

Pro, Fair Psyche, you shall have what you desire ; 
Rise up, sit down by us ; *tis much unfit. 
The wife of Cupid on the ground should sit. 

Psy, Psyche is Cupid's out-cast, and his scorn. 
And therefore sits thus low, and thus forlorn. 

Plu, Oh, thou belov'd of Love, be not so sad ; 
Furnish a banquet ; let our cousin taste 
The delicates that grow in these dark groves. 

Pro, Art thou not faint ? {a banquet set forth, 

Psy, Yes, wond'rous faint and weary ; 
Faint through the want of food, weary with toil 
Of my unnumbered steps ; faint through the terror 
That on each side affrights me ; faint and weary 
^^th bearing this poor burthen in my womb. 
Cupid, thy words are true ; thou did'st foretel 
My pride on earth should work my plagues in hell. 



70 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Plu, Refresh thyself; then taste our delicates. 

Pay. I dare not touch them. 

Rha. Thou hast a sop ; eat that^ 

Psy, It is not mine. 
It is your porter's fee. 

Cer, Give it me then. 

Pay. Anon I will, at my return from hence. 
In the mean time, sacred Proserpina, 
By all the tears your grieved mother shed. 
When you were stol'n from Pisma's flow'ry bank. 
Let Psyche be despatched to Gypria, 
Lest the incensed goddess do some wrong 
To her poor servant, if she stay too long. 

Plu. Will she not sit ? scorns she to take our food ? 
Give her some wine. 

Cha, Here, girl, drink to Hell's king. 

Psy. Give me cold water from the murmuring spring. 

Plu. I am soul-vex'd, that any mortal eye 
Should see our customs, and return alive. 
To blab them to the wide ear of the world : 
But, Proserpine, having performed all rites. 
We must not here detain her : send her hence. 

Pro. My envy equals yours, but all in vain. 
Psyche, receive this box from Proserpine, 
Wherein celestial beauty is enclosed ; 
But, on thy life, dare not to look into't. 
As thou respect'st thy safety. 

Psy. I receive it. 
And humbly begging to dread Pluto's queen. 
Entreat to be dismissed this fearful court. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 71 

f^lu. Charon, convey her back. 

Cha. My ferry-money. 

Cer. My sop. * 

Ps^, Both's here. 

[e^i Charon and Cerberus, with Psyche, 

Plu. Psyche is worthy to be Cupid's wife ; 
And, Proserpine, remember her to Venus : 
Make intercession that the queen of love 
No longer prove th' ungentle step-mother. 

Mer. Pluto, when Psyche hath performed her task. 
My sister will no doubt be reconcil'd ; 
Cupid presented a petition 
To Jove, and all the senate of the gods. 
To take from her her base deformity : 
The gods agreed, and Venus too was pleas'd 
At her return from hell it should be done. 

Plu, Here, Hermes, take my Queen Proserpina ; 
Return her when the sister of the Sun ' 
Hath six times compassed her silver sphere ; 
Commend me to my mother, great Jove's wife. 
My sister Ptdlas, and to all the gods : 
So farewell Pluto's joy ; all hell shall mourn 
With hideous cries till my fair love return. [eweunt. 

\hideous music. 

SCENE n. 

Enter Cupid. 

m 

Cup^ Many a long look have my watchful eyes 
Sent out to meet with Psyche ; here she comes, 



72 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Enter Psyche. 

And in her hand the box ; Cupid^ stand close. 
And overhear the sum of her discourse. 

Enier Clown. - 

down. This is 'she ; I know her by her martyr'dfoce. Ve- 
nus did well to send her for beauty ; for, poor soul, she hath 
need on't. I have dogg'd her, to see if I could find her at 
any advantage, to steal away her box; I have already got 
love from Cupid; I have got poetry from Apollo ; and if I 
could now get beauty from Psyche, — ^Phaon, the fair ferry- 
man, was never so famous in Sicilia, as I, Corydon, shall be 
in Arcadia. 

Psp, You, tnut'rous thoughts, no more assault me 
thus ; 
My lovely Cupid charged me not to see 
What Proserpine sent Venus in this box ; 
The like command did Hell's queen lay on me : 
Oh, heaven ! yet I shall die except I do't. 

Cup, Aye, Psyche, what still in your longing vein ? 

Clown. That's it; nay, I shall know*t, if I see't again. 

Psy. It's beauty. Psyche, and celestial. 
And thou art ugly ; this will make thee shine. 
And change this earthly form to shape divine ; 
Open it boldly ; but I shall offend ; — 
Why, say I do ; 'tis but the breach of duty. 
And who'll not venture to get heavenly beauty. 
Rich beauty, ever fresh, never decaying. 
Which lies entombed in this heavenly shrine ; 
Nor in this bold attempt think me profane. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 73 

^'^riving, thus spotted^ to be free from staiii. 

[she opens the bow and falls asleep. 

Clown. Nay, I thought I should take you napping. 
And thou shalt go with me ; for 'tis my duty. 
My mistress being a blowze, to find her beauty. 

[Cupid charms him asleep. 

Cup. To make thee lovely in thy mistress' eyes. 
Make use of that, and boast of thy rich prize. 

[Cupid lays a counterfeit boos by him. 
But, foolish girl ; alas ! why blame I thee. 
When all thy sex is guilty of like pride. 
And ever was : but where's this beauty now ? 
Tum'd into slumbers, and, like wat'ry pearls 
Of honey-tasting dew, hangs on these lids : — 
She wakes again ; I have swept off the slumber 
That hung so heavy on these spotted covers. 
Which once dos'd in the light of all true lovers. 

Psy. Where am I now? dread Cupid, pardon me ! 

Cup. Come, rise ; and wipe away these fruitless tears ! 
Take up the box, and hie thee to my mother ! 

Psy. She'U kill me for the beauty I have lost. 

Cup. Tush, fool I I gather'd it from thy clos'd eyes. 
Where in the shape of slumber it did rest j 
Be comforted \ Cupid's white hand shall clear 
This black deformity, and thou shalt ride 
In Venus' chariot, and be deified. 
I thought to chide thee, but it will not be. 
True love can but a while look bitterly; 
Awake thou too, the treasure there enclos'd. 
Rifle at will, but see it well disposed. 

[eofeunt Cupid and Psyche. 






It 



74 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Clown. Where aui 1 1 nay^ where is she ? I no sooner 
cast mine eye upon the box, to say — ^here 'tis, but I was 
asleep before a man could say — what's this ? what's this, 
said I; 

Rejoice, all mortals that wear smocks. 
For I have found rich beauty's box ; 
I was before but a man made, but I am now a very made 
man; and when 'tis known I am possess'd of this rich 
treasure, both young and old, short and tall, tag and rag, 
witch and hag, crone and beldame, who, though they 
come abroad but seldom, will crawl upon crutches to find 
out me : but come as many as will, and as fast as can^ by 
their fovours, my Amaryllis shall be first serv'd : and yet 
not first neither; am I in possession myself, and shall 
not I be the white boy of Arcadia? Adonis is dead, and 
shall Dot I be Venus' sweetheart? 
Come, box of beauty, and for white and red, 

[the box is fall of ugly painty with which he smearn 

his face. 
Put down Jove's page, the smooth-fac'd Ganymede ; 
Daub on, daub on, as thick as thou can'st lay on. 
Till thou exceed the ferryman call'd Phaon ; 
Cupid, compar'd with me, shall be a toy. 
And look but like the sign of the black boy ; 
My face shall shine just as my hand disposes. 
In one cheek 111 plant lilies, in t'other roses. 
Till all that this my visage gaze upon. 
Say, — there, there goes the fair-fac'd Corydon I 

Enter Swains. 
1*^. Swain. Where is Corydon? Hymen stays, and 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 75 

Amaryllis attends ; the bride is ready^ but no bridef^room 
to be found. 

Clown. I do not think the clowns will know me when 
they see me; [aside.'] Colin^ Dickon^ Hobbinol! and how 
is't, how is't ? . 

2nd, Swain, Ha^ ha, ha, very scurvily methinks : is this 
Corydon ? 

Chwn, Nay, if my fece in swains breed such delight. 
What ^vill the nymphs do when they come in sight ? 

^d, Swain. O, monstrous Corydon ! how cam'st thou 
thuschang'd? 

Chton. Chang'd ! I hope so : I have not travelled thus 
far for nothing ; speak, you mortals ! doth not my brow 
relent? shines not my nose? springs not here a lily, there 
arose? 

2nd. Swain. A rose, a lily ! a blue-bottle, and a canker- 
flower ! what is that upon thy face? 
Clown. Beauty, boys, beauty. 

2nd. Swain. Beauty, dost call it? I pr'ythee, from whence 
^ame it ? 

Clown. Marry, from hell. 

2nd. Swain. From hell? I believe it; for it hath made 
thee look like a devil already. 

Clown. Go, shear your sheep, make money of your wool. 
Sell all your lambs, and make your purses full ; 
And then, if on the price we can agree, 
I'll fit you all, and make you look like me. 

2nd. Swain. Like thee ! Pd rather see thee hang'd : dost 
thou think we mean to wear vizors? 

Clown. This His to be mere mortals, and have no addition' 



76 LOVCS MISTRESS. 

of learning or travel; their dull eyes cannot judge 
celestial beauty : but where's my Amaryllis, and the god 
marriage. Hymen ? 

Ut. Swain. They both stay for thee in Venus' temph 
but r hope thou wilt not be married to her in this pickle 

down. Will I not? yes, and dazzle idl their eyes th 
shall look on me, especially my Amaryllis ; 
And she must needs have some part of my theft : 
All is not gone, something for her is left : — 
Lead on, lead on, this day you shall be my men ; 
And thus in pomp will we go meet with Hymen : 
And, Dickon, if anon thou wilt be sinful 
To drink with me, I will give thee thy skinful : 
If there be any here, I speak it out of duty. 
Desire any complexion from my box of beauty ; 
This night Pm busy, let them come to morrow ; 
They shall have store, if they will buy or borrow, [exeum 

SCENE m. . 

Enter Pan, Apollo, Vulcan, Venus, Admetus, Astioche 
Pbtrea, Menetius, Zelotes, and Arcadians. 

Ven, By this I know, that minx is come from hell. 
And here she harbours ; but. Arcadian King, , 
Deliver her, or, by our dreadful frown, 
Pll spoil thy courts, and cast thy temples down ; 
Conceal her longer, not the gods' entreats 
Shall guard her from the death my rage intends ! 

Adm. Dread Queen of Paphos, she remains not here ; 
Nor think that I abet her, though my child. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 77 

Against your wrath, or power; nay, did she sojourn 
In any place where I have free command, 
I'd cause her to be fetched thence instantly, 
And as your slave and vassal tender her. 

Ven. If she be safe returned from Proserpine, 
She must be pardon'd, and become divine ; 
But to conceal her being, and keep back 
The present sent, k«ep8 but her future wrack. 

Apo, If ever in Mr Venus I had power. 
Or grac'd her summer pastimes with my beams. 
At length, with a commiserating' eye. 
Look on distressed Psyche. 

VuL Do, good wife ; 
Use her with all the favour thou can'st think; 
Cunnive at her, as I at thy faults wink. 

Pan, And Pan protests, by Canna's nut-brown hair. 
The fairest nymph, since Syrinx, I e'er saw ; 
Be friends with her ; my Satyrs all shall play, 
And I with them make this a holyday. 

EfUer Mercury and Proserpine. 

Mer, To all these gods, to Venus, and this train. 
Health from the son of Saturn, and Queen Ceres ! 

Fen, Welcome ! what would the messenger of Jove 
To us, or these ? 

Mer. Pan, Vulcan, and yourself, 
W\i\i Phoebus, and the great Arcadian king, 
Must be this day at Ceres* sowing-feast ; 
Unto which annual meeting, see fair Proserpine 
Is come from Pluto's court. 



78 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Ven, Welcome, fair queen ! 

Apo. Welcome, fur sister, from the vaults below ! 
We two are twins, of fair Latona bom. 
And were together nurs'd in Delos' Isle ; 
You guide the night, as I direct the day : 
Darkness and light betwixt us we divide ; 
Nor square, but in our mutual orbs agree. 
Unless you move just 'twixt the earth and me ; 
For then you eclipse my lustre. 

VuL Cousin Queen, 
I am even moon-sick, and half merry mad. 
For joy of thy arrival. 

Pan. By our crests 
We should be cousins, for we both are homM ; 
And Vulcan of our kin too : but, sweet goddess. 
Now I bethink me of th' Arcadian nymphs, 
I am bound to thee for many a pretty sight. 
And much good sport Fve had by thy moonlight. 

Pro, To give you meeting, I am come from hell. 

Ven. Saw you not Psyche there ? 

Pro. Love's Queen, I did : 
Hither she comes, with Cupid, hand in hand : 
Her leprosy, through labour, is made clear. 
And beauteous in your eye she'll now appear. 

Enter Cupid and Psyche. 

Cup, Celestial, sea-bom queen ! I here present you 
My Psyche, who hath satisfied your will : 
Deliver her, fair love, from Proserpine, 
The box of beauty, endless and divine. 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 79 

Psy, Guided by Love^ lord of my life and hope, 
I come undaunted to your gracious sight; 
Hoping^ my sufferance liath out-worn his wrath. 

Ven. She hath 'scap'd hell, and now the task is done ; 
And I still crossM by a disobedient son. 
But tell me how this leper came thus fair. 

Gup. At my intreat it was : 
'Mongst all the gods I claimM her for my wife; 
Who, taking a joint pity of her wrongs, 
Gave their consent ; and, then, great Jove himself 
Call'd for a cup of immortality. 
Drank part to her, and Psyche quaff'd the rest ; 
At which, deformity forsook her quite,* 
And she made fur, and then proclaimed my bride ; 
Jove vowing, she should now be deified. 
Ven. I see, I cannot conquer destiny : 
By fate she first was thine ; — I give her thee. 

Mer. Now, Psyche, you must see your sisters judg'd ; 
Unstaid Petrea, and imkind Astioche : 
Admetus, you must be their sentencer. 
Ast. Husband, your knees ! 
Pet. My dear lord ! plead for us. 
Ast. Will neither ? yet, father ! 
Adtn. Wretches, peace I 
Pgycke by you was torn from her delight. 
And rudely rent from Cupid's paradise ; 
Twas you that robb'd her of a father's love ; 
By your allurements, she was sent to hell ; 
And had not divine aid secured her thence. 
Poor soul I for ever she*d been there detained ; 



so LOVE*S MISTRESS. 

For which, to endless durance I adjure you ; 
For merit's silver gates are always barr'd 
To hearts impenitent, and wilful hard. 

Psy, Have pity on them, father ! gentle hnsband, . 
Remember not their fraud in tempting me : 
You gods and goddesses, with Psyche join. 
To beg their pardons ; all you. Arcadians, kneel ; 
For, had they not my happiness envy'd. 
My love and patience had not so been try'd. 

All, We all will mediate for them. 

Adm, Then, daughters, give your sister Psyche thanks. 
And to her virtues be a servant still, 
Which makes atonement for your ill. 

Both. We'll henceforth be her hand-maids. 

Fen, They shall attend her unto plenty's bower ; 
Where Ceres, queen of fertility. 
Invites us with the other gods to feast. 

Mer, There Jove and Phoebus shall lead Cupid's queen 
To the bright palace of eternity ; 
Bacchus shall give us wine, and Ganymede 
Shall crown our full cups with the grape's pure blood;. 
Ceres shall yield us all earth's delicates ; 
The Graces shall bring balm ; the Muses sing 
In Cupid's honour, love's immortal king. 

Vul Vulcan will dance, and sing, and skip, and quaff. 
And, with his smoky jests, make Cupid laugh. 

Cup, Such as love me, make me their precedent. - 
See, thus I take fair Psyche by the hand ; 
Mercury, do you the like to Proserpine ; 
My mother Venus cannot want a mate : 



LOVE'S MISTRESS. 81 

^i^ lonour of our mariiage^ match yourselves, 
-^ud, with a measure^ grace our nuptials ; 
^o^t, such as do not love to be in motion, 
•^iew, as spectators, how our joy appears, 
^^.ncing to the sweet music of the spheres. 

A Dance of Cupid^ Psyche^ the Gods and Goddesses, 
-^po. Now circle Psyche in a fairy ring", 
'^^liilst I and Venus grace her with this crown ; 
^^*xi8 done, to feast with Ceres and the gods ; 
^^■^d next imto the palace of the sun, 
^^^ end those sacred rites we have begun. 

Enier Midas and Apuleius. 

-Mid. Is this your moral ? this your poetry ? 
lat hast thou done ? what spoke ? what presented ? 
^^■^^ich I with all these cannot justly tax ? 

-^pu. Yes, all like thee, th' obtuse and stupid minds ; 
^"U-t there's an understanding that hath depth 
^^yond thy shallow nonsense ; there's a wit, 
^ l)rain which thou wanf st ; I to that submit. 
Mid, And even in that thou fooVst thyself. 
Cup, Nay then, 
^» l)y the favour of these gentlemen, 
^^^U arbitrate this strife : one seeks to advance 
His art, the other stands for ignorance ; 
Both hope, and both sh&U have their merits full ; 
Here's meed for either, both the apt and dull ; 
Pleas'd, or displeas'd, this censure I allow ; — 
Keep thou the asses' ears, the laurel thou ; 
^^ you, judicious, this my doom commend, 

o 



82 LOVE'S MISTRESS. 

Psyche by you shall^ doubly crown'd, ascend ; 

And then this le^cy I leave behind. 

Where'er you love, prove of one faith, one mind. 

The spring comes on, and Cupid doth divine 

Each shall enjoy his best lov'd Valentine ; 

Which, when you have, may you like us agree. 

And at your best retirements think of me. [exeunt. 



THE END. 



liONDON : 

Piinted by D. S. Maurice, Fenchuich-street. 



o 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN: 



A TRAGEDY. 



WRITTEN BY HENRY GLAPTHORNE. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR QHARLESBALDWYN, NEWGATE-STREET. 



MDCCCXXIV. 



LONDON : 

Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchuich-stTe<ft. 



HENRY GLAPTHORNE. 



The biography of this author is unknown, and his produc- 
tions almost forgotten. He wrote in the reign of Charles I., 
and is mentioned by A^nstanley as f one of the chiefest 
dramatic poets of that age/' His plays were certainly 
received with approbation, in his own time, and deservedly 
so ; but their merit is rather of a poetical, than a drama- 
tic kind. They are not only ill calculated for representa- 
tion, from the declamatory and undramatic nature of the 
dialogue, but are deficient in intensity and passion. The 
author only sports on the surface of the heart ; he never 
penetrates into the sanctuary. Indeed, he is so intent on 
producing poetry, that he seldom even attempts to excite 
our sympathies : but, in taking this course, he probably 
consulted his own powers, ,and so far acted wisely. For 
pathos, therefore, he has substituted a highly ornamented 
style of poetry, and the earnestness of the author for the 
passion of the interlocutors. Amidst a great deal of re- 
dundant imagery, however, we frequently meet with pas- 
sages of exceeding beauty, particularly in Albertus Wal- 
ienstein and 7%^ Lady's Privilege, Of the nine plays 

A 



IV HENRY OLAPTHORNE. 

written by Glapthorae, five have been printed j and of 
these, only two are considered worthy of forming part of 
this collection. 

LIST OF OLAPTHORNE's PLAYS : — 

9 

1. Albertui Wallenstein. Tragedy. 1039—1640. 
8. The Hollander, written in 1S3A. printed 1040. 

3. Argalui and Parthenla. Trag. Com, 1039. 

4. Wit in a Constable. 1040. 

5. The Lady'i Privilege. 1040. 

0. The Parricide, or Revenge for Honor. Not printed. 

7. TheVeftaL Trag. Not printed. 

8. The Noble TriaL Trag, Not printed. 

9. The DutoheH of Femandina. Trag. Not printed. 

He was, besides, the author of a volume of poems, pub- 
lished 1639. 



THE TRAGEDY 



OF 



-.ALBERTUS WALLEN STEIN, 



lA' 



DUKB OP PRISDLAND, AMD OBNEBAL TO IBB BMPBROR 
PBBOINAND THB SECOND. 



WRITTEN BY HENRY OLAPTHORNE. 



Cedant canninibus reges r^(umque triumphi. 



THE aCSNS'^SGSRS. 



anp 



^tTBD, WITH GOOD ALLOWANCE* AT THB GLOBE ON THB BANK- 
SIDE, BT HIS MAJBSTTS SERVANTS. 



^** ^"^NTBD, AT LONDON, BY THOMAS PAINB^ FOR OEOROB 
HUBBARD, AT THB TURNSTILE, IN HOLBORN. 



1639. 



TO THe GREAT JBXAMPLV OV VIRTUE, AND TRUE M^CENAS OP LIBERAL 

ARTS, 

MR. WILLIAM MURRY, 

Of His Majegtj^a Bed Chamber. 

Gratitude is the best appendix to virtue, un- 
thankfulness the worst addition to vice. My endeavour to 
achieve the one, and avoid the other, invited me to this 
publication of my many engagements to your best self, 
and betrayed your noble name to the patronage of this 
Poem. The native magnificence of your disposition is so 
replete with mercy, that it would be an error in the reli- 
g-ion of my duty, should I question your remission of this 
audacious crime, the offence being only the acknowledg- 
ment of my respective service to you. Works of this na- 
ture have always assumed this privilege, to aspire the 
noblest for their protectors. Since, then, authorised by 
custom, worthiest Sir, it cannot be a diminution to your 
fame, nor repugnant to the gravity of your most serious 
employments, to have him, by public profession, known 
your servant, who hath long sipce, by particular devotion, 
been 

The humblest of your honorers, 

HEN. GLAFfHORNE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Ferdinand II., Emperor of Germany, 

Ferdinand, his Son, King of Hungary, 

Albertus Wallenstein, Duke ofFriedland, 

Marquess Brandenburg. 

Duke Saxon-Weimar. 

Earl of Tbrtzki. 

Earl of Kintzki. 

Earl of Questenberg. 

Mathias Gallas. 

Colonel Newman. 

Marshal Illawb. 

Frederick, i ^ . r«- ,, ^ • 
J Sons to JVaUenatetn, 

Albertus, ) 

Colonel Gordon, Cro»«r«orQ/'-C^^*. . 

Colonel Leslie. 
Captain Butler. 
Page to Wattenstein, 

Dutchess to fFaUenstein, 

Emilia, Daughter to Saxon- fFewnar. 

Isabella, H^oman to the Dutchess, 

Dragoons. Guard to the Emperor. 
Guard to ff^allenstein. Executioner. Attendants. 



ALB^TUS WALLEN STEIN. 



ACT I. SCENE I. 

€r KiNTZKi, Tertzki, Gordon, Butler, and Leslie. 



*ri 



^*it. The rumour still continues. 

T,, ^ri. Yes, my lord ; 
ill ^ 

*^ine8, though quick, are certain ; 'tis concluded 

**t question ordispute ; for these reports 

.^^^ founded on too manifest a truth, 

1^ ^^arry doubt in them ; it is confirmed this morning : 

^ i^ust resign. 

'^*. Though a stranger, sir, 
r^^^^ so less interested in the general's cause, 

«^an you, his countryman, — were you not my friend, 
,^^U lied to speak it. Must our general, 

•^t soul of valour, Wallenstein, who has, . 
^^ke subtle lightning, purg'd the German air 



2 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

From all the hot infections foreign war 
Could threaten ; sent the health-carousing Dane, 
Drunk with his own blood, home ; broke all the force, 
With which the valiant Palatine, and his aids. 
Infested had the province ; given to death 
That thunderbolt of war, whose very name 
Was great as fate itself unto his foes. 
The Swedish king ; and must he, now his age 
Is candied o*er with victories, be enforcM 
To a base resignation ? — Death ! he's damn'd 
That dare but mutter it. 
Gar. An they were so 
Who first occasioned it, 'twoidd bring much comfort 
To all true soldiers. 

Les, Tis concluded, sir. 
Past all redemption : they are doubly damn'd 
For their ingratitude. Displace a man 
To whom they owe their lives ! one whom, my lords. 
We've seen i' th' heat and bravery of a fight 
Cheer up his fainting and disheartened troops. 
Even when his body seem'd but all one wound. 
That it appeared a little island, eircVd 
Round with the purple deluge of his blood ; 
Who, when war's quiristers, the big-mouth'd drums 
And surly trumpet, sung his army's dirge. 
That fatal music swelled his sprightly sense. 
More than soft hymns at nuptials. 

Tert, Sir, his glories 
Are so well known to us, we need not urge 
Their reputation ; but ^tis past my thotights. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

^y, on the sudden, he should be compell'd 
To give his charge up. 

JCint. When the world believ'd 
He should have had a double triumph in 
The honour of his victories ! 

-t^es. III tell you.— • 
Tliere is in princes' courts a lean-fac'd monster, 
Terin'd Envy, reigning in unworthy breasts. 
To fame's heroic sons ; — such as know to cringe 
^itl subtle motion to their prince's smiles, 
'^^^re his footsteps and his awful nods, 
^^■^fl can, like asps, instil into his ears 
^ sveet yet killing venom; these thin souls, 
^Hen the blunt soldier has, on piles of wounds, 
®^i.lt up his country's peace, whisper — " Beware 
'^ t^ime, my lord, lest he do grow too great/* 
^^is, meeting with the jealous prince's fears, 
^^ ])rinces still are fearful of the greatness 
^^ rising active subjects, breeds resolves to cut up 
^ *^^t prop, leaning on which, themselves have stood 
'^*'Kn and unshaken on their base ; and these 
^^>Xirt parasites, and the emperor's weak distrusts, 
*^^1 this disgrace on Friedland, which, if he 
. ^^it;h an effeminate patience do put up, 
"* ^y all the laurels growing on his crest 
^^ tum'd to cypress, serving for no use 
^^^t to adorn his funerals I 

^or. Soft ! 
T^'li.c general's here himself: my gracious lord, 
'^li* duke. 



4 ALBERTUS WALLENSTBIN. 

Tert. Our thrice redoubted general. 

Enter Wallenstbin and Tllawe. 

tFal. Ha ! that sound 
Awakes my drowsy soul. Pray, good my lords. 
What do you behold degenerate in my looks. 
Shewing me unworthy still of that great title ? 

Tert. I would pull my eyes out. 
Should they convey into my soul a thought 
Tending to so much sacrilege to honour * 
And perfect masculine virtue. 

JFal. Yet I must 
Put off that glorious title, like a garment 
Old and unfit for wearing. O, my lords. 
Our honour's individual with our souls. 
Grows to that essence, as to the hand or cheek 
The native whiteness ! and to have that torn, 
Lugg'd off by violent torture, is a suff 'ranee 
Beyond the strength of patience : is't not, lords ? 

Tert, Yes ; and look. 
How far the noble immaterial soul 
Transcends the duller body : so much, torment. 
Inflicted on the purer mind, surpasses 
Corporeal punishments. 

ffal. It is a true 
Philosophy, which, even amongst soldiers. 
Whose only learning is comprised in arms. 
Is granted as indisputable. My lords. 
What will the world, that sometimes stood at gaze. 
Frighted with awful terror of my deed«. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Imagine, to behold me, in my as^e, 

Oepriy'd of all those titles, all those glories. 

Which have grown up with me, even from my youth ; 

Which I have purchas'd with expense of wounds. 

More numerous than I've veins ? 

Twill straight conclude, — either my age is doting. 

And returned into a second childhood. 

And unfit to manage 

The glorious warfare and the big commands 

Of martial discipline ; or that my faith 

Is, on the sudden, like a fair ripe ^it. 

By th' too hot kisses o*the lascivious sun, 

BetrayM to rottenness, by haughty pride 

Or vain ambition tainted. 

Les. And so blast 
At least, my lord, in their too nice esteem. 
Your former actions. 

Giyr. Wrap in clouds of shame 
Your shining virtues. 

Wal, True ; for, 'twixt these two extremes. 
There is no means t' escape by : think, then, lords, 
What an inhuman irreligious wrong 
It is both to my honour and my faith. 
To be deprived thus basely of that charge. 
Which I've performed with care and good success ; 
And what ingratitude 'tis in this prince. 
This emperor, thus to reward my trust. 
When his own soul can witness, 'twas myself 
That from the Swede, the Palatine, and Dane 
Kescued his eagles, who else had meVd their plumes. 



6 ALBBRTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

And from their height been forc'd to perch on earth ! 

I took the reeling pillars of his state 

And pitch'd them firm and even ; of this, his heaven^ 

Fve been the Atlas ; I did fight for him. 

When every conflict was a victory. 

Each field of battle was a field of glory ; 

Yet, as my truth's and loyalty's reward, 

I am deprived unkindly, even in peace. 

Of all my glories purchas'd in the war. 

Tert, Next, sir, think 
With whom your shining honour's in the scale 
Balanc'd, — with one so far beneath your worth ; 
We are engagM in reputation, never. 
He being so far inferior to ourselves. 
To obey his commands. 

Kint, Mathias Gallas, 
Your late field marshal. 

Wal, His very name 
Begets new horror in me. Noblest friends, 
Co-partners with me in whatever dangers 
Attend triumphant Mrar ; whom I have led 
In crimson fields, through rising seas of blood. 
That you have swam, not march*d, to victory ; 
Would it not breed afflictions in your souls. 
Your noble honest souls, to see your poor. 
Yet always loving^ general, at this age. 
Now, when his head's grown white beneath his helm. 
Discarded from his office, and shook off. 
As birds their feathers mew, or stags their horns. 
Those useless excrements, in h(^e that fresher 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Will in th' 0I4 places grow ? Should I do tliis, I then 

Might trail my waving ensigns in the dust. 

As at my honour's funeral, and break 

My sword 'gainst my own target ; nay, put off 

All pomp and pride of war, and, like that vain 

Resemblance of a star, a comet, fall. 

By my own fire consum'd, to earth forgotten. 

Les, Great sir, though a stranger to you 
By birth and nation, yet the strict aUiance 
I've to your princely nobleness, enjoins me. 
Under your pardon, and with 4;he allowance 
Of these brave counts, your followers, to deliver 
My zealous counsel to you. 
VTaL Noble Scot, use your discretion freely. 
Lei, Thus, great sir, then ; — 
Though 't be in the power of princes to prescribe 
Laws to their subjects, 'tis their subjects' wills 
Must put those laws in act ; 'tis their obedience 
Which are the ablest sinews of the state ; 
And 'twere a barbarous cruelty to employ 
Their hands against themselves, a strange injustice. 
To make their proper virtue instrument 
Of their own ruin. 

Tert, Colonel Leslie speaks home. 
Kint. And to much purpose. 
Lei, Do not, lords, 
Misunderstand my meaning : I speak not this, 
lliat I contemn authority, or dislike 
Order in every thing. Without pre-eminence 
Xn title of command, our trade, the warfare. 



8 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Could not subsist : but to inform our general. 
Our too much injured general, that it is 
No such strange crime to disobey a prince. 
In things unjust ; and can there be a greater 
Or shamefuller injustice than for Caesar, 
By 's mandate, to enforce him to resigii 
His glorious charge up ? 

Gar. *Twere a shame. 

///. An utter, an abominable disgrace. 
To all that honour virtue, should we suffer it. 

Les, Here, then. 
Ends what I would have uttered : of what force 
Are Caesar's mandates, when thdr real love 
Has disannulled them ? Circled with these hearts. 
These bulwarks of brave hearts, what need have you 
To acknowledge any emperor but yourself. 
Your self, great duke, whose merit lays just claim 
To that supremest title. Pray, once more 
Give me your patience : rashness, gentlemen. 
Gives the first onset fiercely, then recoils. 
As wasps, when they have lost their stings : affairs 
Of this high consequence do require mature 
Deliberation ; to confirm our own 
Strength for the exploit, 'twere fit we did conjoin 
With Saxon Weimar, and Gustavus Home, 
And the other bold confederates : — ^how likes 
Your grace this project ? 

WaL The drum and fife. 
Trumpet and cannon, when their loud voices sing 
los to victory, could ne'er beget 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. ^ 



I 

I More music in my ravish'd sense. Best friend, 

F J am so bankrupt grown in my extent 

^gratitude, that, trust me, I could weep 
'^o see myself so far outdone in friendship ; 
^ am engag'd in honour to go on; 
*^at this insulting emperor by his fall,* 
* o gain fit means to gratify your loves. 
*^ou airy name of loyalty, hence to heaven 1 
-Ajid find, like smoke, a burial in the clouds. 
Thus I expire thy essence ; henceforth Fll acknowledge 
-No other emperor but these worthies' hearts. 

T'ert. And we, great duke, henceforth will ne'er submit 
*^o any rule but yours, which to confirm 
"^^ sure as Fate had seal'd it, on your sword 
^^e*ll take a solemn and religious oath 
■^^r the performance.. 
-^11. We all swear it. 
7Vr/. And if any 
^^oiild be so basely perjur'd, as to break, 
'^t in a thought, this sacramental faith, , 
our just angers fall as heavy on him 
Heaven's most horrid curses ; sink his name, 
:e some prodigy despis'd by light, into forgetfulness '. 
ffal. So now, methinks, I stand, like a Colossus, 
*^Hrough whose spacious arch 
^^ows the vast sea of honour, without power 
^i" natural force to ebb. Again, best friends, 
*^li.e early day, though from the gorgeous East 

* A line is evidently wiuiting here. 



10 ALBERTUS WALLEN8TEIK. 

She breaks, adorn'd with chains of liquid pearl. 

Cannot achieve full lustre, till the sun 

Oild her pale cheeks with brightness ; nor can we 

Clothe the yet infant dawning of our hopes 

In perfect robes of light, till we have 

Attir*d them in the sparkling rays of blood. 

Imperial blood I Come, lefs go on resolv'd. 

Like those brave men, who, in their awful palms. 

Do bear about their destinies, and can 

Command even Fate itself. lUawe, despatch with speed 

Advices to the Marquess Brandenburg, 

Weimar, and Count de Amheim, that we entreat 

A personal meeting with them all at Dresden. 

Come, lords, whene'er the Roman eagle falls. 

We'll mourn in triumph at her funerals. 

[eweuni all but Leslie, 
Les. So, things once well begun 
Are half performed : the managing an act 
With close and hidden practice, 'mongst the wise 
And politic people, brings assur'd success : 
Broad open ways the heavy snail does take. 
While untrod paths best please the subtle snake. [ewit. 



SCENE II. 

Enter the Gmperor, Gallas, and Questenberg. 

Emp. He'll not resign them ? 
Ques, 'Tis so fear'd j the greatness 
Of his vast spirit never will admit 



ALBERTUS WALLEN8TEIM. 1 1 

^^■^signation of those honours which 

^e has with such felicity enjoyed. 
Gall. Be^des, my lord, 

^^e army is so much bewitch'd with love 

^^^ this arch traitor, Wallenstein, they rather 

^Nit off their due alle^^ance unto you, 

l^eir natural sovereign, nay, ^ve up their lives, 

X*han yield to any act which may concern 

tiEis removal. 

Emp. Can this be possible ! 

"Treason shall never brave us at our doors 

"Whilst I can wield a sword. Ungrateful slave ! 

"Whom I have rais'd from such an abject lowness, 
(His family did scarcely bear a name 
In common gentry) to the very height. 
The type of honour. That he should do this. 
And, like the viper's young, devour that heart 
That bred and nourished him, more afflicts my soul 
Than all the wrongs and troubles which my foes 
Ever inflicted on my fame and empire. 
Mathias Gallas, let it be your charge 
To see new forces levy'd, to oppose 
'Gainst this arch rebel. 
Gall. My lord, I've leam'd 

I* the practick school of war, that to oppose 

Fresh unexperienc'd troops against the flower 

Of old and harden'd soldiers, is but as 

If, 'mongst hungry lions, we should cast 

Kesistless infants, and, by their weak force, 

Hope to o*ercome the furious beasts. Dread sir. 



< 



12 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

My counsel always has had that success^ 
To be accounted faithful to my prince : 
Fear it not. Follow, then, my poor advice : 
Meet treachery with policy, and try • 
If you the ambitious traitor can surprise. 
The head once off, the weak and fainting limbs. 
Like sear'd, dry'd boughs, by an impetuous wind 
Tom from an aged oak, will fall to earth. 
And be consumed to ashes. 

Emp, It shall be so. 
Lord Questenberg, with all convenient speed 
Despatch a trusty messenger unto 
The King of Hungary ; command his presence. 
With his most able legions, for the safeguard 
Of our own person. In such like affurs. 
Which do concern th' uncertain rule of states. 
Wise men should always be above their fates. [eofeum^' 



SCENE III. 

Enter Albertus and Newman. 

New. A pox upon her, sir ! and, for her sake. 
On all good faces ! Must you sigh, and whine. 
And make a face, worse than a zealous drunkard 
Does o'er dead musty wine, because she's beauteous ? 
We soldiers do not use t' engender with 
A physnomy; nor, as the learned term it, 
Co-habit with a handsome nose or lip : 
There are some parts beneath the waist, I take it. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 



13 



More useful for a man of arms. 

Alb. Good colonel, no more of this. 

New. Should I ask you. 
The reason wliy you love her, you must answer, — 
Tis for the sport ; as for what other reason 
Women were made, unless to prick upon 
A clout, or starch, transcends my best philosophy : 
And for that purpose a short-coat Friester, 
Thatj as she milks each morning, 
fiedew? the cool grass with her virgin moisture. 
As useful is, and active ; sounder far. 
That's certain granted. Pray, my lord, remember. 
She's but your mother's gentlewoman ; and whom, perhaps. 
The butler has of tener folded up, than e'er 
He did his table linen. 

Alb. No more ! Youll anger me. 

New. You'll anger me again> then. We imps of Mars 
Should know no other distresses than what the camp 

contains. 
I ne'er durst love in the field, (marry, in the city 
I've had copulation with all trades,) 
But one poor sutler's wife, and she as fair, too. 
As was the kettle which she boil'd her beef in. 
0, how the sweet smell of her ambergrease. 
And kitchen stuff, perfum'd my greedy nostrils I 
Vet on this beauty doted I, 
Inspir'd by insurrection of the flesh ; 
And gave her, to cuckold the good corporal her husband. 
Ten comely dollars ; and, the devil take her. 
She paid me with a pox I 



\4 ALBERTUS WALLEN8TCIN. 



Enier Isahblla. 



But, see ; here comes the lady of the lake. 
For whom you^ good Sir Laoncelot, make these lamenta- 
tions. 
Be not you bashful now ; 

But fall on boldly. 'Heart, let me drill her for you: 
If her body be under musket proof, 
Tis ten to one my morris-pike shall enter. 
To her, to her. [emt Newman 

ha, Surpris'd by him alone ; oh, my just fears ! 

Alb, Why, cruel fair one, should you shun his sif(ht. 
Whose very soul moves in your eyes ? or why 
Should your blest voice speak health to all the world. 
Yet threaten death to me ? Look on my youth. 
My hopeful youth, which, in the active war. 
Has taught old soldiers discipline; behold it 
Nipt by the cold frost of your icy beauty. 
As in a fever, languishing to nothing ; 
Forgetful of the noble pride and strength 
It has so lately boasted. 'Tis unjust. 
To see me still over my foes victorious. 
Made by myself your captive, to insult 
Over your suppliant vassal Would those eyes. 
Which can contract light's orb into a glance. 
Become impoverish'd by a smile ? those cheeks 
Sully their native tincture, should they blush 
At your mind's cruelty ? 'twould rather add 
To the illustrious excellence. 

ha. My noble lord ! 



ALBeATtJS WALLENSTBlN. 15 

^Ib, Stay ; you must not speak yet : 
lucre's not an accent issuing from your Itps 
^ut has the power, should thunder speak, to charm 
To peaceful quiet th' affrighted world, 
^^d would strike dumb my passion. Best of virgins ! 
'^ere is not that disparity 'twixt our births, 
^ there's unequal difference 'twixt our hearts : 
, fine's all on fire, dare combat with the sun 
for heafs priority ; your's, mountain snow, 
v/old as the north, and cruel as my fortunes ; 
' et you may make them equal, as your eyes are, 
°y yielding up that fort, which will, when time 
v^a given it ceremonious privilege, be, perhaps, 
^y some unworthy groom, without resistance, 
^**»T>ris'd and enter'd. 

<^a. My lord, bad custom is become 
^ xnen a second nature to deceive 
^Or vir^ns by their flatteries. Noble youth I 
*^Bt I do love you deariy, may these tears, 
*^«d for your folly, testify : look back 
^t:o your priceless honour $ call that up 
*- * assist the fortress of your mind, assail'd 
^> foul unlawful passion : think how base it is 
-^^o rob a silly orphan of her dowry ; 
^ have no other, but my virgin whiteness, 
l«eft to uphold my fame : nought but my virtue 
^o my inheritance : should you despoil me 
Of that fair portion, by your lust, my memory 
AVould, like an early rose-bud, by that tempest 
Oie on its own stalk blasted. 



16 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Alb, I do dream, sure I 

Isa, Women's fames, sir. 
Are, like thin crystal glasses, by a breath 
Blown into excellent form, and, by a touch. 
Cracked, or quite broken. Say, I should consent 
To your desires : your appetite once sated. 
You would repent the fact, when you should see 
Yourself surrounded in a mist of cares ; 
View bashful virgins point at you, as at 
Some hateful prodigy ; hear matrons cry — 
' There goes the lustful thief, that glories in 
The spoil of innocent virgins ; that foul thief. 
That has a hundred eyes to let lust in at. 
As many tongues to give his wild thoughts utterance!' 

Alb, Sure some angel inhabits here ; 
This cannot be a mansion 

For mortal frailty. Sweet, farewell I good night 1 
I would not have my over-saucy love 
Commit a rude intrusion on thy peace. 
Though parting with thee be more torment to me 
Than to forego mine eyes. May all the joys 
Of healthful slumbers crown thy bed! thy dreams 
fie free from paraphrasing on my memory. 
Lest it affright you. Once more, dear, good night ! 
While you with pleasing happy sleeps are blest, 
I'll seek some way to my eternal rest. [eaeunt. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 17 

to 

ACT II. SCENE I. 

Enter Wallenstein, Weimar, Brandenburg, Tertzki, 
KiNTZKi, Illawe, Newman, Gordon, Leslie, and Butler. 

fFai, The honour you have done me, mighty princes. 
Electors of the sacred Roman Empire, 
By this your personal visit, does engage 
So much our gratitude, that what ourselves. 
And the most able forces of our friends. 
Can in requital act, shall be performed. 
Mutual discourses often mingle souls. 
And as the arteries convey the blood 
Throughout the body, they, from mind to mind. 
Convey affection ; to this end we did 
Entreat this meeting, that our conference might 
Join in an individual league our hearts. 

dran. This happy treaty, glorious duke, shall bring 
Blest peace, once more, with turtle's wings to soar 
Over the German provinces ; shall dry 
Tears from the eyes of mothers, while the virgins 
Shall dedicate their hours to joyful hymns. 
In honour of your merit. 

fFei, The sturdy boor 
Shall plough his fields in safety, and ascribe 
To you, great duke, that happiness : 'twas you 
Who, when Bellona thundered through the land, 
Did stop the steel-wing'd goddess in her course ; 
Who, when our fumies, like a raging flood. 
Did bear down all before them, did oppose 

c 



18 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

The greedy torrent, boldly tumM it back 

Into its native body ; and, conjoinM 

With you so inur'd to conquest, he were less 

Than man, and more than coward, that could fear 

Any ensuing dangers. 

fFaL You do me too much honour, mighty princes. 
And now, my brave confederates in arms. 
Where bus'ness of import commands attendance. 
That time's mii|-spent, that's spent in useless wcHrds : 
I shall, so please you, therefore, speak the cause, 
Jn brief, which urg'd me to desire this conference* 
And give you reasons for my strange revolt 
From my so long-lov'd master. 

Bran, 'Twas the end we only came for. 

^eu The sole reason 
That drew us to this meeting. 

fTal. Thus, in brief, then : 
How I have serv'd this emperor, these wounds 
That beautify my body, 'cause the marks 
Of my just loyalty, given by your swords. 
Can bear me righteous witness ; but good sendee. 
To a malicious and ungrateful prince. 
Are rather causes of suspect than love; 
And when men's actions do transcend reward. 
They then descend to punishment : my cause 
Is rightly stated thus ; — ^for when myself, 
I well may speak it without partial boast. 
Had, like his eagle, in my powerful gripe, 
Snatch'd up his crown, that lay despis'd -on earth. 
And heaved it up to heaven, borne all the weight. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 19 

Which yours, the Danish, and the Swedish force 
Could load these shoulders with ; nay, shook it off 
Lightly as winds in autumn do from trees 
Their wither*d summer garments ; then, even then. 
When my just hopes were pregnant with conceit. 
Of wreaths and triumphs, as a brave reward. 
My soldiers, by his mandates, were forbid 
T' obey me as their general, and myself 
Commanded straightway to resign my charge. 
All my great power, which I had bought with blood, 
Unto Matthias Gallas, my field-marshal. 
fFei, Insufferable injury ! 
Bran. Inhuman and imheard-of ingratitude ! 
WaU Nay, more ; 
As I had been a traitor then in fact. 
He did endeavour my surprise, to bring me 
A prisoner to Vienna : think, then, lords^ 
When both my priceless honour and my life 
Were at one stake propos'd, if Pd not cause 
HTo play my game with cunning skill, when these 
^Bfy brave commanders, from their martial eyes, 

id, for my wrongs, shed tears of blood ; call'd on me 
on their friend, their father, not to leave 
XMy sons, my soldiers. If I their request 
l^erform'd, I sav'd my honour and my life ; 
Sut if the emperor's, I gave up them both • 
To plain perspicuous ruin : yet, in not 
Accomplishing my master's harsh commands, 
*Thetiame of treason brands me : but pass that, 
I» of two evils, chose to take the least. 



20 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Rather to draw upon me Caesar's hate. 

Than to forsake my charge and soldiers* loves ; 

And now, being free in my own soul as thought. 

Unsought to, lords, and uuconstrain'd, I offer 

T' assist against this emperor, this thing . 

Made only up of name and voice ; whom we 

Will break, as showers do bubbles which themselves 

Of nothing had created. 

fFei, So welcome 
Is this your proffer'd amity, no blessing. 
Heaven in its fullest bounty could have shower'd. 
Could have arrived more pleasing ; and to shew 
How much we prize your friendship, let your son. 
Young Frederick, be affianc'd to my daughter; 
The tie of nature to the tie of blood 
Will make the union perfect. 

JFaL Tis an honour 
We are bound in duty to accept : ray lords ! 
In noble souls, no thought should once admit 
Sullen delay ; our progress should be swift. 
As is the passage of unlimited fire 
In populous cities ; or as wind?, whose force 
Does, at their birth, rend ope the stubborn womb 
Of the dull earth — their mother : great designs 
Should by great spirits only be pursu'd ; 
And our last business is our speedy conference 
With Chancellor Oxenstem and the French ambassador. 
Actions that carry an unusual weight. 
Ought still to fly at an unusual height. 

[exeunt all but Leslie, Gordon, and Butler- 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 21 

Les, So> let the dull 
Half-spirited souls^ who strive on reremice win^s. 
By that which fools term honesty, to climb 
To th' top of honour, in their silly virtue 
Boast, while ingenious and more active spiiits 
In a direct line, without stop or hindrance. 
Mount to their wishes, yet, in the world's esteem. 
Are held as real and endu'd with goodness. 
This Wallenstein, like a good easy mule. 
Have I led on by the nose to this rebellion3 
Fir'd mth such venom as will spread 
Like swift infection through his soul : these two 
Shall be my agents to achieve my ends. 
Factors in cunning to vent forth my intentions. — \a%%de. 
lAeutenant-Oolonel Gordon, and my good 
Gaptiun Butler. 

Gw* We were musing 
What serious thought it was, that could so long 
Detiun you from our conference. 

Lei, 'Faith, I was studying 
On our great general's fortunes, upon which 
Our hopes and lives depend: what think you of them ? 

Gwr, Well; at least we're bound 
To hope the best : he's in himself so mighty, 
He seems above his fate. 

BfiU His plots do carry 
A fur and specious outside. 

Lei, Tis a sign 
Corruption is within them. Noble friends. 
You are my countrymen, and if my life 



22 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

May preserve yours from ruin» I shall deem it 

Religiously employed ; if you discover 

What I intend to utter^ 'twill but send 

My age, some hours before its destined minute. 

Unto my grave, and I most willingly 

Shall die the cause's martyr. 

Gor, By our honours. 
No syllable shall ever pass our lips. 
What you in love reveal to us. 

Les. Thus, then, friends : 
Rebellion never yet could boast a happy 
Or prosperous period. WaUenstein's designs 
Are built on sand, and with the emperor's breath 
Will be dispersed into the air : I speak not this. 
That I do hate the man ; heavens know, I love 
His person, but detest the cause he justifies. 

Gar, True, the dignity of princes 
Does make whatever quarrels subjects raise 
Against their sovereigns, odious. 

Lea, Shall we, then. 
Here, in a strange country, violate 
The laws oi hospitality, unmake the antient faith 
Ascrib'd unto our nation, by assisting 
A traitor 'gainst his lawful prince I a general 
Against that power which gave him that command ? 
Betray that royal master, to whose bounty 
We owe our lives I first, rather, let's resolve 
To open all his treasons, his proceedings. 
Unto our lord the emperor. 

Gor, Tis very just ; 



ALBESIT0S WALLENSTBIK. 23 

And, in my judgment, requisite. 
But. I do approve it. f» 

Les. TVere mere madness. 

And he that does mislike it bears no brain. 

No soul about him. Instead of slight preferment. 

Which, should our general prosper, we at best 

Gould but expect, we shall have 

Castles, lordships, earldoms, nay provinces ; 

Be styl'd the savers. 

Preservers of the empire; have our names. 

As 'twere in triumph, sung about the streets 

In popular acclamations : think, then, friends. 

How far these certain honours will surpass 

Our airy expectations. Come, let's post 

•Stnught to Vienna, and inform the emperor 

Of all 's proceedings in this great affair ; 

VTc must not use our fortune, but our care. [ea^euni. 

SCENE XL 

Enter Frederick, Albertus, and Newman. 

New, I^sh I perish still in ignorance : am I, 
^Vlio am grand master in the art of love, 
^ot able to instruct a limber youth 
Of the first growth ; your brother, here, makes love 
Iq an ill-favor'd tone, and screws his countenance, 
Aa he was singing lamentable ballads 
^ Tilly 8 overthrow : but you, (for your part, 
I've known you of an urchin,) are so fiery. 



24 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

You speak all squibs and crackers^ carry a cannon 

In your mouth ^ you'll fright the lady ; she'll imagine 

You come to ravish her. 

j416. The colonel tells you your own gpod» brother. 

New. I've told you yours^ too, or I'm much mistaken. 
You love, 't should seem, the fair Emilia ; 
A pretty wench, they say, but that's no matter ; 
Your fathers are agreed on't, and you'd have me 
Shew you the readiest way how to accost her : 
Negatively, I will demonstrate instantly. 

Fred. I shair observe your doctrine most exactly. 

New, Pray observe : 
You must not, then, accost her with a shrug. 
As you were lousy, with your lady, sweet lady. 
Or most super-excellent lady ; 
Nor in the Spanish garb, with a state face. 
As you had new been eating of a radish. 
And meant to swallow her for mutton to't ; 
Nor let your words, as that I'm most afraid of, 
'Cause 'tis your natural mood, come rumbling forth, 
Usher'd with a good full-mouth'd oath, I love you ; 
But speak the language of an overcoming lover. 
I do not mean that strange pedantic phrase, 
Us'd by some gallants who do aim at wit. 
And make themselves stark asses by't; praise their mis- 
tresses 
By the sun and stars, while the poor girls imagine 
They mean the signs their mercers or perfumers 
Inhabit at ; for sure, beyond those planets 
They've studied no astrology; but you must 



! 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTCIN. 25 

Xn gentle^ free^ and genuine phrase, deliver 

^our true affection, praise lier eye, her lip, 

Her nose, lier cheek, her chin, her neck, her breast, 

lier hand, her foot, her leg, her every thing ; 

And leave your roses and your lilies for 

Your country frows to make nosegays of. 

But, stay ; here comes your mistress ; her father, too. 

In conference. Fall on, my Myrmidon, 

While we retreat. 

Enter Weimar and Emilia. 

Alb. Speed your endeavours, brother I 

[eofit Albertus and Netfftnan. 

Wei. lis so concluded *twixt me and his father. 
For both our goods ; be not you nice, Emilia. 
The noble youth's so fumish'd with all worth. 
You needs must like him. 

Emi. Good sir, give me license 
To let my eye direct my heart to love ; 
And, if young Frederick be the master of 
Such absolute gifts, doubt not, but I shall find them. 

fFei, My lord, Tm glad 
Of this fair interview ; I and my daughter 
Were even conferring of you : sir, as yet, 
She's something timorous, — dreads a soldier's looks. 

Fred, She needs not, sir : 
She bears a spell about her, that would charm 
A Scythian's native fierceness into softness ; 
Those spirit-breathing eyes, my lord, which can 
Kill as they please, or quicken with a glance. 



26 ALBBRTUS WALLENSTBIN. 

fTet, Now they are enter'd, 
I'll steal away, and leave them. {ewit, 

Fred, Gentle lady. 
To make the addresses of my love-sick heart 
Plain and apparent to you, that you may 
Search through my soul, and find it all your creature. 
Give me your patient hearing. 

Emi, 'Tis a request 
Might tax my manners, should I deny it to 
One of your noble quality : use your pleasure. 

Fred, Which consists 
In viewing your bright beauty ; the idea 
Of all perfections which the jealous heavens 
Durst ever lend to earth-divinest lady ! 
The gentle air which circumscribes your cheek> 
Leaving its panting kisses on the flow'rs 
That in that Tempe blossom, does not love 
Those fields of purity more than mine eyes do. 
Mine, lady, is a holy, 
An intellectual zeal ; such as the angels 
And saints, wlio know no sexes, do afiect by ; 
Past imitation, too, should they, who strive 
To trace me, take the constancy of swans. 
Or never-changing turtles, as their patterns. 

Emi, Sir, it seems 
You've studied compliment as well as arms ; 
But he's a foolish lover who, to gain 
His mistress, dare not promise what you've utter'd ; but I 

must 
Have more than verbal assurance of your love. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 27 

Fred, "By your fair self^ I'm real, do intend 
What Fve delivered, with as much true zeal 
As anchorites do their prayers : I love your mind. 
Your excellent mind ; and, for its sake, the pure 
Shrine which contains that blessing ; — this fair building. 
This palace of all happiness ; — and entreat you. 
As you have mercy in you, to take pity 
Upon my love's stem sufferings, and redress them. 
By your consent to take me for your husband. 

Emu Sir, you are an over hasty lover to imagine 
I can, at firdt sight of your person, be 
Surprised, and yield ; they must be strong allurements 
Must tempt a bashful virgin, still inur'd 
To no companion but her fears and blushes. 
To give her heart away, and live in thraldom 
Unto a stranger. 

Fred, Love, madam, has eagles' eyes: it can beget 
acquaintance 
Even in a moment ; suddenly as time. 
The time that does succeed it. Farewell 1 
I will not have my over hasty zeal 
Urge your mild suff'rance further : pray, think on me 
As one who've plac'd my full extent of bliss 
In your enjoying ; think you are the land mark, 
Byivbich the brittle vessel of my hopes 

MuBt through love's swelling ocean be directed 

To a safe harbour: honour me to kiss 

Your fiedr hand. Lady, now farewell 1 no bliss 

Can be in love, till we know what it is. [exeunt. 



28 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

SCENE III. 
Enter the Emperor, the King of Hungary, Gallas, and 

QUESTENBERG. 

Emp, Crowns are perpetual cares, and to their heads 
That wear the wreath imperial are annex'd : 
Foreign invasions oft may shake a state ; 
But civil broils are the impetuous firebrands 
That bum up commonwealths. To quench 
A flame domestic we are met, which will. 
Like fame, increase by going on : — this late 
Revolt of Wallenstein. 

Hun, Perfidious slave. 
On whom your plenteous bounties showered so fost. 
They seem'd to drown him ; he, whose great commands 
Could not know aught above them but yourself; — 
The general of your forces ; of Glogaw, 
Mecklenburg, Sagan, Friedland, styPd the duke ; — 
He to invert your own arms 'gainst yourself. 
Swells my vex'd soul to think on't. 

Emp, 'Tis not words. 
Or airy threatenings, will appease the mischief; 
It mtist be done by force. Matthias Gallas, 
Have you, according to our late commands. 
Given orders for the levying new forces. 
To oppose this traitor ? 
• Gal, Mighty sir 1 I have ; and seen them muster'd. 

Emp, To what amounts their number? 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 29 

Gal. Threescore thousand. 

Hun. A royal army, had they been trained 
In military discipline : experience 
Xs half the soul of arms : we will take order 
To have them taught the exercise of arms, 
£y those Hungarian troops which we brought hither. 

Enter a Messenger. 

JSn^. Now, sir, your business. 

Mess. IVfighty sir ! 
The governor of Egers, Colonel Gordon, 
Attended by Lieutenant-colonel Butler, 
And Colonel Leslie, do desire admittance 
Into your presence. 

Emp. Let them enter : 
They are his friends ; and may, perhaps, discover 
Some of his treacheries. 

Enier Leslie, Gordon, and Butler. 

Noble strangers, welcome ! 
I do conceive 'tis business of importance 
Has drawn you hither. In Colonel licslie's looks 
I read affairs of consequence^ with which 
His active brain does teem, and fain would be 
'^y 's tongue deliver'd. 

Les. Most mighty Caesar 1 
*To endear the service to you, I shall do you. 
By gilding o'er each circumstance, its weight 
And consequence, since 'tis my bounden duty 
To you, my royal master, would but shew 






A .rroeant love vn b«' ^^ggeu 

Pride and »"''f* , ,„ 'twould »*^''* 4 you. 
To my o*^ ""^ • !rit — to^ ^"^ • ,»dce. 

Th^amP^^' -"I TS^ wuom.induejus*^*^''' 

uJer com^naud of b^-:,„^ curses, 

. Revolted Wa»en^^^^^„ovm. 

^'»''- ^. Tav tlvose services. 

^*''***But^V^en^sawW» ee. 

i,«. But wn ^,,^ t« , „„„ trifles 

^'^*'>^n':fy'otbounteo-J-^^^^s. 

^ccountins "Ytainous pUe of !«» « _„«empiw. 

«-»'> *^^ "i^cloud. l'-'«;:?Vv Jt ttougU« 
A»*'^^" ir^ to break, and »nsv« 

«-"*''•' t2red<fig«'V-*it:ounsels. ^^ 
^ i^d your s^^ ^^^4 .,^to taH c« j^^^d tbem 

E»P^"',jlent danger.' 

SofuHot^-^^^Sous. . our-itUadbee" 

GOT. So ""^^^r" rtb andbonour , 

^'- ^"'?tb bo" M'st P«-^7^;' .blcb most 
^tr-c:;atbe.Cro.j:;:.otbeen 
To bave cou _ ^jiougbts, »» 
Tortures tny M^ ^,^el ^^""^f ' ^ offensive. 

«' r !u mo«* ^'' '^'trSustavus Horn • 



Ai^BERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 31 

That, if sudden power stop not their progress. 
They will, with speedy violence, invade you 
Here in your capital city. 

Emp, Worthy strangers ! 
In this one act you've shown yourselves more faithfdl 
Than all my home-born subjects ; but, be sure. 
If gratitude can equal your deserts. 
You shall ei\joy that amply. Noble Leslie 1 
The time is come now, and the dilemma cast. 
That must conclude our empire, which we must . 
Unto thy care commit. To kill a traitor 
Is a deserving action, for' thou strik'st 
Then with the sword of justice : wilt thou add 
This one act to thy former high deserving, — 
Kill this arch-rebel ? 

Lei. Twas an office 
We should have begg'd: believe 't, he's dead already; 
m kill him in his pride, — ^in all his glories, — 
With such security, as I would sleep 
After a tedious watching. 

Emp, And expect 
\^liate'er your hopes can msh : so, with all speed. 
Back to your charge : be careful. Come, my lords ; 
Fate now does smile upon us, and the storm 
Which threaten*d us, is suddenly grown calm. 

[eaeunt Emperor y Hungary ^ Questenderg, and Gallae, 

Les, Now our hopes 
May rest, best friends, assur'd of good success : 
Tis in our hands, our fates, and we have hearts 
Dare venture on this giant duke, and lift him 



32 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

With as much ease from earth, as the bright sun 
Does dull and lazy vapours ; nor let dangers 
Fright us from the achievement, since the justice 
The cause does carry, is a certain armour 
'Gainst all the assaults of peril ; which, in itself. 
Is but an April storm, no sooner shown 
To fright the air, but by the next wind.o'er-blown. 

[eaeunt. 



ACT ni. SCENE I. 

Enter Frederick and Emilia. 

Fred. Divinest lady ! 
I hope your late refusal of my. love 
Is altered now by your more gentle pity : 
My constancy carries more strength about it. 
Than to be blasted by your first repulse ; 
In the same righteous cause of my affection, 
I must again be advocate, and hope 
My suit will be effected. 

Emi. Alas I my lord, 
Make me not thus the subject of your mirth 
Or compliment : your soul is too secure 
In its own manly virtues, from surprise 
Of weak affection, especially of mine. 
Who am so worthless in myself, I cannot 
Boast those high glories as to be victorious 



ALBBRTUS WALLENSTEIN. 



33 



Over 80 brave a conqueror. 

F^d. Those bright eyes. 
Like heaven's blest light, when from a mist of clouds 
He peeps, and gilds the earth with brightness, can 
Quicken and fire even marble hearts with love. 
Thaw souls of ice, my Emilia. 
A male^Mtor's fears are more upon him. 
Ere he do come to's trial, than when he hears 
The judge pronounce the sentence of his death : 
Tib so with me ; and I should be more blest 
To hear that voice of yours, — 
That angel's voice, — too sweet for such dire use. 
With a severe refusal strike me dead. 
Than live tormented in a sad suspense. 
Ignorant of my destiny. 

Emi. My lord. 
If I should frame my virgin thoughts to love. 
They should be fix'd on you ; but Fm so well 
Content and settl'd in a virgin life, 
I cannot wish to change it. 

F^ed. Not t' embrace a larger stock of happiness, 
Emilia? 
Virginity is but a single good, 
A happiness which, like a miser's wealth. 
Is, as from others, so from your own use 
IiOck*d up and closely cabined, since it not admits 
CDmmimication of its good ; when you 
Shall, in the state of marriage, freely taste 
Nature's choice pleasures, that same happiness 
You were created for. 



34 ALBSRTUSf WALLENSTKIN. 

Etni, You have prevaiPd, sir j 
You, who arc still yictorious o'er your foes. 
Must needs remain a conqueror o'er your friends : 
My lord, receive me freely ; I am yours 
For ever. 

Fred. This chaste kiss shall seal the contract. 
Gome, my Emilia : love is such a wealth. 
As must be gainM by free consent, not stealth. [ea^euni. 

SCENE II. 

Enter Wallenstein, Dutchess, Newman, Tertzki, Kintski, 

Illawe. 

fFal. Are they agreed yet, Newman ? 

New. 'Faith, my lord. 
The virgin lady's something fearful ; fears 
A man of war should board her, lest his charge 
Should make her keel split. My Lord Frederick 
Is of that rough demeanour, ^pite of my 
Instructions, he will never learn to woo 
In the due phrase and garb. 

fTal. I do admire 
The fond, base carriage of our giddy youth 
In love affairs ; and grieve to see my sons. 
Who should inherit from me my great spirit. 
As well as fortune, so degenerate from 
My masculine courage : when in the blooming pride 
Of my green youth I flourished, my desires 
Aim'd always rather in the tented field 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 35 

To spend my hours, tlian on a downy coucli : 

To see the face of a stern enemy besmeared with blood, 

PleasM me far better than a lady's looks. 

Dutch. And yet you vow'd. 
Ere you won me, my lord, you ne*er saw object 
That 80 much pleasM your appetite. 

IFaL Perhaps, I might. 
For the obtaining of my ends, descend 
From my great spirit so much as to decline 
To idle courtship : the birds and beasts will do it. 
To sate their appetites ; the fiery steed. 
That, in the fervour of a fight, oft times 
Neighs courage to his rider, when provok'd 
With eager heat, will }ick and bite his female 
Into the same desire : the sparrows bill. 
And, with a chirping rhetoric, seem to court v 
Enjoyment of their wishes ; which fulfill'd. 
Dulls their heads, they couch beneath their wings. 
And, in a slumber, forfeit all remembrance 
Of their past pleasures ; yet4nsatiate man. 
In his desires more hot than steeds or sparrows. 
Will, to obtain it, quite divest his soul 
Of all that's masculine in him, and transform 
His very being into woman. 

New. Sure, 
My lord intends to write some proclamation 
Gainst wearing Holland smocks, — some furious edict 
'Gainst charitable leaguerers : I've known him. 
And so have you, my lords, for all this heat 
Gainst womanhood, pursue a sutler's firow. 



36 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

And she had but one eye neither, with as much zeal 
As e'er knight-errant did his £ur Lindabrides, 
Or Claridiana. 

Enter Frederick and Emilia. 

Ter, My lord, your son and fisiir Emilia. 

New, The quarrel's reconcil'd, I'll lay my life on't. 

IFal, Beauteous lady ! 
The contract 'twixt me and your father, touching 
The marriage 'twixt my son and your fair self, I hope, 
By your consent, is ratified : my boy 
Looks sprightly, as if he were new retum'd 
From a triumphant victory. 

Fred, My lord, 
I am so much a master of my wishes. 
By being blest in this fair lady's love, 
I cannot wish a happiness above 
What I possess ; only would you be pleas'd 
To destiny the most welcome hour for 
The consummation of our nuptials. 

fTal, T shall be accomplish'd 
With all the speed that preparations can 
Be made for the solemnity. Your news, sir. 

Enier Page. 

Page, My lord, there's Colonel Gordon, and son 
others. 
Newly arriv'd from Egers, beg admittance 
Into your presence. 

Wal, Let them enter ; 
They are my noble friends. Madam, take 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 37 

The bright Emilia to your charge : Frederick, you 
Have leave to wut on your mistress. 

\eweunt Dutches, Frederick, and Emilia. 

Enter Gordon, Leslie, and Butler. 

Worthy friends. 

You're dearly welcome : I presume, the business 
IVf list be of much importance that could draw 
You, without giving us first notice of it, 
Prom Egers hither. 

Lfes» Mighty sir ! our fortunes. 
Our honours, lives, whatsoe'er we can call ours, 
.Are such a debt to you, that we're engag'd 
To sacrifice them all, in any service 
I^or you, especially in this affair 
AVe're now arrived about, since it concerns 
Your precious life ; which, by that tyrant Caesar, 
At half the price and value of his empire, 
Is set to sale. 

ff^ai. Horror ! as how, good colonel? 

Les. When you shall know, sir. 
The traitors, such his malice would have made them, 
XHck'd out for the assassinates of your person, 
Youll bless you from his treacheries, as from 
Infectious dilmps ^ for the men, best general. 
Are of such bosom trust, so near ally'd 
To aU your counsels, 't had been as easy for them 
To have acted your sad ruin, as it is 
For me to speak this. 

Ter. Very strange ! pray, name them. 



38 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Les. Even ourselves^ — 
Our faithful, innocent selves^ — ^were those same monstecs, 
Design'd for to put in act his purpose; who^ 
'Cause we were mercenaries in this warfare. 
He thought as easily we would sell our fsdths ; 
Courted us, therefore, with whole piles of honours, 
Mountsdns of titles, mines o£ endless riches ; 
But, where our honours stand in competition. 
These are but frivolous baits, — trifles for children, — 
To ^lay and toy withal : our faiths are crystal. 
Which poison cannot vitiate. 

WaL And our love 
Shall strive by yours to take a fair example. 
How to requite your truth. But, pray, what answer 
Retum'd you to this man, more great in mischiefs 
Than he's in power or title ? 

Les, Entertained 
His proffered bounties with a specious shew 
Of thankfulness ; nay, promisM to effect 
His damn'd intent ; besought him, not f employ 
Any other instruments, but ourselves^ t' accomplish 
The ruin of your person ; by these means 
To free your dear life from the inuninent danger 
Of being, by others, aim'd at. 
Ter, These strangers' loves 
Surpass credit. 

Wal To thank you 
For this same dear preserval of my life. 
Best friends, were to admit your action might 
Receive, by gratitude, a satisfacti(m ; 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 39 

But, pnj, divide my soul ; my life and fortunes 

Are at your disposition. Noble lords. 

That this base emperor seeks to take my life, 

fiy treachery, is an apparent si^ : 

He fears that I should live ; and, half victorious 

Ere blow be strucken, are they whom their foes 

Dread, ere they do behold them. Let's go on, then, 

Arm'd with our aids, back'd with our cause's justice, 

'Gainst this insulting emperor, and resolve 

To pull the tyrant from his throne, destroy 

His very name, his memory, his ashes. 

With as much easy freedom, as rough winds * 

Demolish crazy buildings. Colonel Gordon, 

Some five days hence we shall arrive at Egers, 

There to make preparation for the nuptials 

Betwixt our son and fair Emilia. 

Come, lords, since we amongst ourselves are true, 

€onquest is ours, which we'll with speed pursue, [eaeunt, 

SCENE HI. 

Enter Albertus. 

u4lb. To be in love, nay, to be so in love, 
1*0 put off all our reason and discourse. 
Which does distinguish us from savage beasts ; 
l^o dote upon a iace, which, like a mirror, 
^^tiUy'd by any breath, by the least sickness 
^rows pale and ghastly : is not this mere madness ? 
Why should 't inhabit here then ? Sure the soul. 



40 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

As 'tis a spirit of a subtle essence, 

A form as thin an<) pure as is an angePs, 

Can ne'er be author of these wild desires. 

So opposite to its nature'; they're all fleshly. 

Sordid, as is the clay this frame's compos'd-of. 

Shall the soul. 

The noble soul, be slave to these wild passions. 

And bow beneath their weight ? — ha, Isabella ! 

Enter Isabella. 

All reason, sense, and soul are in her looks ; 
There's no discourse beyond them. Cruel fair one ! 
Are you still resolute to persist in your 
Strange tyranny, and scorn my constant love ? 

Isa, Do not, sir. 
Abuse that sacred title, which the saints 
And powers celestial glory in, by ascribing 
It to your loose desires ; 'pray, rather clothe them 
In their own attribute ; term them your lust, sir ; 
Your wild, irregular lust ; which, like those firedrakes 
Misguiding 'nighted travellers, will lead you 
Forth of the fair path of your fame and virtue. 
To unavoided ruin. 

Alb. This is coyness, 
A cunning coyness, to make me esteem 
At a high rate, that jewel which you seem 
To part from so unwillingly ; merchants use it 
To put bad wares away : dear Isabella, 
Think what excessive honour thou shalt reap 
In the exchange of one poor trivial gem. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 4 1 

^nd that but merely imaginary, a voice, 

.An unsubstantial essence ; yet for that 

lliou shalt have real pleasures, such as queens, 

Prone to delicious luxury, would covet 

To sate their appetites. Think, Isabella ! 

That hardest marble, though not cut by force, 

£y oft diffusion of salt drops is brought 

Into whatever form the carver's fancy 

Cefore had destin'd it. Your heart's that substance, 

.And will, by frequent oratory of tears, • 

Ce brought to wear the perfect stamp, the figure 

Of my affection on it. 

fsa. Thus beseig*d, 
Xt is high time I summon up my virtue, 
^/VU that is good about me, to assist 
Af y resolution : sir, I would be loth 
IJL'hat you should see me angry; 'tis a passion 

[y modesty- is unacquainted with ; 

'et, in this cause, dear to me as my honour, 

needs must chide your passion. O consider, 

lOok what a precipice of certain ruin 

our violent will, as on some dangerous rock, 
it strikes whate'er dashes upon 't in pieces, 

^as cast your heedless youth upon ! my lord, 
ly should you venture your whole stock of goodness 

'^poQ forbidden merchandize ? a prize 
"^^Hiich the most barbarous pirates to the laws 
moral honesty, would fear to seize on, 

'Oth for its sanctity and trivial value. 
Alb, Fm thunderstruck ! 




42 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

ha. What foolish thief^ my lord, would rob an altar. 
Be guilty of the sacrilefi^e, to gain 
A brazen censer ? why should you, then, affect 
A sin so great as spoiling me of honour. 
For such a poor gain aa the satisfying 
Your sensual appetite ? think, good my lord. 
The pleasures you so covet are but like flattering mornings 
That shew the rising sun in his full brightness. 
Yet do, ere night, bury his head in tempests. 

Alb, I'm disenchanted 1 all the charms are fled. 
That hung, like mists, about my soul, and robb'd it 
Of the fair light of virtue. Excellent angel ! 
You have that power in goodness as shall teach 
Wonder, that child of ignorance, a faith. 
No woman can be bad. I do confess. 
Big with the rage of my intemperate lust, 
I came to blast your purity, but am 
Become its perfect convert ; so reclaimed 
By your best goodness from these foul intentions. 
Hell has not strength enough to tempt my frailty 
To the like wild looseness \ pray, sweet, for^ve me. 
Seal it with one chaste kiss, and henceforth let me 
Adore you as the saver of my honour, 
My truth and fame's preserver. 

ha. I am glad 
I've wrought this reclamation on your folly ; 
And, trust me, I shall ever love this in you. 
Though my more humble thoughts shall ne'er aspire 
To affect your person. 

Alb, Had you yielded to my desires. 



ALBBRTUS WALLENSTEIN. 43 

Been no whit virtuous^ I should have esteem'd you, 

CMy looser heat, by your consent, extinguished,) 

But as a fair house haunted with goblins, 

"Which none will enter to possess, and bless'd me 

From the prodigious building ; when now. 

Big with the chaste assurance of your virtue^ 

I do beseech [you], by your love, your mercy, 

Ijook on my innocent love, more spotless 

Xhan are the thoughts of babes which ne'er knew foulness ; 

A.€cept me for your husband ; start not, lady ! 

By your fair self I mean it, do entreat it, 

A^ my extent of happiness. 

ha. This, my lord, 
^8 too extreme o'th* other side ; as much 
oo mean I hold myself to be your wife, 
8 my own fame and honour did esteem me 
oo good to be your prostitute. I^Iy lord, 

e wiving vine, that 'bout the friendly elm 
^ines her soft limbs, and weaves a leafy mantle 
'^DT her supporting lover, dares not venture 
^) mix her humble boughs with the embraces 
the more lofty cedar : 'twixt us two 
the same difference. Love, my lord, and hope 
nobler choice, — a lady of your own 
k ; all the ends my poor ambition 
ail ever aim shall be to love your worth, 
'Vt ne'er aspire your nuptials. 

Alb, You're too humble, 
>3npo8e too mean a value on a gem 

ings would be proud to wear ; dear Isabella, 



44 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Let not thy modest sweetness interpose 
A new impediment 'twixt my lawful flames 
And thy own vestal chastity ; let not fear^ 
To thy sex incident, of my father's wrath 
Staf^ger thy resolution ; thou shalt be 
To me my father, mother, brother, friend. 
My all of happiness ; if we cannot here. 
In peace, enjoy our wishes, we will love. 
Like turtles in a desert, only blest 
In one another's company. 

Enter Frederick and Newman. 

New. Why look you, sir, yondier's the cock o'th* game. 
About to tread yon guinea hen : they're billing; 
Shall we retire, my lord ? perhaps they're going to it. 
And 't would be a shame to spoil their sport. 

Fred. I'm resolv'd. 111 speak to him. 

New. Your pleasure must be accomplish'd ; 
But take heed we draw not the virgin's curses on us 
Both ; take heed on't, it will fall heavy. 

Alb, Surpriz'd, and by my brother ! pr'y thee, sweet. 
Withdraw ; I would not have thy timorous ears 
Frighted with his loud anger. [eofit Isabelia. 

fred. Save you, brother ! you've parted with your 
Mistress ; pray, tell me, does she kiss well ? 
Has she a fragrant lip ? 
Are her demeanors courtly, apt to ravish ? 
Are you resolv'd to run away with her. 
And stain the honour of our family for her sweet, sake ? 

Alb. Gentle brother, you speak a language 



f 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 45 

nor understand, 

for yalue much the meaning. In your love 
meddled not ; and 't had been manners in you 
fot to have intruded upon mine, your presence 
sing unrequired. 

J^red. You're very confident, young gallant, 
defence of your brave mistress ; 
^ know you are in love, bravely in love, 
^^th a trim chambermaid, a thing made up 
^-^ a cast taffety gown, of an old wardrobe, 
-^^generate brother ! were I not assured 
^^f your chaste mother's virtues, I should question 
^^hether my father got you ; but Vm come 
-"^o disenchant thy senses from the charms 
^^at hateful witch throws on them ; but resolve 
Quickly to quit her, or, by heaven I she'd better 
Oommix with lightning. 

w^M. Pray, good brother, use 
. *^our threats upon your corporals, or stamp 
"^^ your tame lancepresados, when they do not 
^■^rform your charge ; your rage upon your boys 
'«re more becoming, than upon your brother : 
you will sit, and, with attentive patience, 
ark what I shall deliver, I will give you 

ions for my intentions, but, if not, 
«a may depart unsatisfied. 
Fred. Well, sir, be brief, I shall attend you. 
Alb. In brief, I love fair Isabella, so as honour, 
^^ot the vicious heat of youth, 
0>mmand8 me to affect. I love her virtue, 



46 ALBERTUS WALLBNSTEIN. 

And have in that, as noble, rich a dowry 

As the addition of estate and blood. 

Which youVe acquir'd in your late happy match 

With young Emilia. 

Fred, Dare you, boy, name her 
And my Emilia as parallels ? 

^16, Why, good brother. 
Though she transcends her in her birth and fortunes. 
Yet, in the rare endowments of her mind. 
She is her equal ; virtue has a soul as precious 
In peasants, as in princes : 'tis a birth-right 
None can deprive them of, who truly have it. 
Tis so with Isabella. 

Fred, You do intend to marry her ? 

^Ib. Yes, brother, 

Fred. She is a whore. 

^16. 'Tis a most scandalous lie; and, on your heart, 
m prove her chaste and virtuous as Emilia, 
As your Emilia. 

Fred. Have at you. \jhey^ fight. 

Enter Tbrtski, Kintski, Newman, and Illaws. 

New. Help to beat down their swords, my lords ! 
'Death ! Frederick ! Albertus ! what do you mean ? 
Let's beat them both ; lieart ! I think you're drunk 
With Lubeck beer or Brunswick mum. 

Kin. For shame I 
Put up your angry weapons. 

New. How fell you out, gentlemen, how fell you out ? 

Ter. It was a sad misfortune, nor would I 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 47 

^t should arrive unto our general's notice, 
^or half my earldom : 'las, my lord ! you bleed. 

Mb. No matter. 
My blood could ne'er in more holy use 
Have been employed. 
New. Now the heaf s over, do you not both think 

Yourselves a pair of coxcombs I come, shake hands ; 

I will make you both stark drunk, but I wiU have you 

Good friends again : brothers fall out ! for shame ! 

Brothers fall out I [ejpeunU 



ACT IV. SCENE I. 



Unter Wallenstein, Frederick, Dutchess. 

fFai, Can this be possible ? 

Fred, lis a truth ; 
And if your high authority countermand not 
His fond intentions, he will wed her, and 
,I>ishonour our great family. 

^al. CaU him hither : 
I shall instruct the gallant youth his duty. 

Dutch. But, good my lord, do not, with too severe 
A harshness, chide the error of his love ; 
Iiest, like a crystal stream which, unopposed. 
Runs with a smooth brow gently in its course. 
Being stopped o'th' sudden, his calm nature riot 
Into a wilful fury, and persist 



48 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

In his intended foncy. 

fFal, Gentle madam, teach 
Your women how to dress you ; here are none 
Do need your presence, or instruction : you would 1 

him 
Leap your neat chambermaid, and get a monkey 
For you to play withaL He is here ; — 
Pray you, depart : — ^Frederick, attend your mother ; 
I would be private. [exeufU Dutchess and Frede 

Enter Albertus. 

Alb. Your grace was pleas'd to send for me. 

fFal. I did so : 
Know you the cause ? 

Alb, Not yet, my lord. 

fTal. I am your father, sir ; 
Whose frowns you ought to tremble at, whose anger 
Should be as dreadfiil to you as heaven's curses : 
Look on my face, and read my business there. 

Alb, Alas, my lord, your looks 
Are discompos*d with rage ; your fiery eyes 
Roll with the accustomed motion they had wont 
To dart upon your enemies : I am 
Assured my innocence can no way merit 
Your all-consuming anger. 

fTal. Tis a lie ! 
A worthless lie I false as thy flattering hopes are : 
You are in love ; most gallantly in love 
With Isabella; one who is composed 
Of paint and plasters ; thou degenerate monster ! 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 49 

HTraitor to fame, and parricide to honour ! 
-A.bject in thy condition as thy thoughts are ! 
Tear this vile strumpet from thy soul , do't quickly ; 
Renounce her with all binding ties can urge thee 
To keep thy faith, or I will quite put off 
Tlie name of father, take as little notice 
Thou art my offspring, as the surly North 
Does of the snow, which, when it has engendered. 
Its wild breath scatters through the earth forgotten. 

Alb. This was the killing fever I still feared : 
Sir, I should be a stranger to your blood, 
As well as noble worth, should I commit 
Actions I sham'd to justify ; I confess 
1 love fair Isabella ; and beseech you, 
^he meanness of her fortune and her birth 
Omitted, she may be conferred upon me 
lu lawful marriage. 

IFal. Dare you, boy, 
Speak this to me ? 

M. I should, sir, be degenerate 
From your great spirit, should I fear to utter 
What I do wish effected. Were you a god. 
As, being my father, you're but a degree 
To me beneath one, in a cause so righteous, 
1 should not only boldly crave your license. 
But hope to have it granted. 

fTal Hell and furies 1 
Durst any mortal fool, but my own issue. 
Venture to brave my fury thus ? Resolve, 
Villain, in full to satisfy my purpose ; 

£ 



50 ALBBRTUS WALIANSTEIN. 

Do it without regret ; renounce this strumpet ; 

Even from thy soul abandon her remembrance. 

Or, by my unwearied valour, better. 

And with more safety, thou may'st hug a wave. 

When its white lips kiss heaven. Young sir, your honour 

Is not your own ; for it you're but my factor. 

And must give me account, a strict account. 

Of the errors you run in : to the diist 

Of my great ancestors, stand I accountant 

For all my family; and their blest ashes 

Would break their marble lodgings, and come forth 

To quarrel with me^ should I permit this bar 

To stain their glorious heraldry. 

Alb. Great sir! 
Can virtue be a blemish, or true worth 
Disgrace nobility ? 'twas that, at first, 
When nature made all equal, did distinguish 
'Twixt man and man, and gave a just precedence 
To the most worthy. Honour is virtue's ofispiing. 
Since, then, the angel my affection's fix'd on. 
Is fair and virtuous, all the good that ever 
Durst with frail flesh commix, or earth be proud of. 
How to our families' honour can she bring 
A diminution ? Can, sir, the chaste ice, 
Kissed by the sun into its native substance. 
Pollute a chrystal river? Surely, rather, 
It adds fresh moisture to its stream. My lord, 
I am your son, and have been still obedient 
To your commands ; O, by your love, your virtue. 
Your never daunted virtue^ I beseech you. 



ALtofiRTtJJS WALtfcNSTEiN. 61 

Grant me this one requiest ! wer't for my life, 
I should not be so abject as to spend 
My breath for its redemption. 

FTal Well, thy pratte 
Has overcome me ; I am pitiftd. 
Beyond my nature pitiful, to thee : 
Thou' shalt enjoy thy wishes. 

Alb, All the blessings 
Prayers can obtain from heaven, shower down upon you. 
For your superlative mercy. 
fFaL Stay, and mark me ; 
*T shall be with this condition — that, as soon 
As thou art wed, and hast enjoy 'd thy wishes, 
£re the next sim rise on you, you resolve, 
AVithjbttt remorse, to kill your Isabella ! 
Alb. Heavens protect me ! 

Wal. Nay, thou shalt swear it too \ 'las, gentle boy, 
I know thy nature is too full of fire 
To mix with sordid earth ; and though thy lust, 
^Which is but manhood in thee, prompt thee on 
To taste the sweets of Isabella's beauty, 
I know thou scom'st so much to unmake thy gentry, 
To take her for thy wife. Perhaps she will not 
^ive up her honour, till the church has seal'd 
"^iiat grant ^s lawful : freely I allow 
^©r brave ambition, if, as a reward 
-'^Ue to her haughty pride, thy owb( hands kill her, 
"^^d so wipe out the infamy. 

W/*. Straiige cruelty ! So tyrants us'd to grant oflTenders 
life. 



52 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

After their condemnation^ to reserve them 
To combat wild beasts in the spacious cirque^ 
Or bloody amphitheatre. My lord 1 

Wai. Pish! I am deaf; inexorable as seas 
To th' prayers of mariners, when their keel 
Is drunk with billows. 

Enter Dutchess, Isabella, and Page. 

Dutch, O, my lord. 
Your justice on this cursed witch, this thief! 
This morning I have lost out of my cabinet 
The so much valu'd jewel, which your bounty 
Bestow'd upon roe ; none but she and I 
Having been there since, she must be thief: 
Force her to restitution I 

fTaL Twas a gem my mother gave me ; which I did pre- 
serve 
With as much care as votaries do the relics 
Of their protecting saints : I gave it you, 
WTien, in the eager fervor of my youth, 
I destin'd you my -wife. Come hither, minion; 
You, who can steal the jewels of men's hearts. 
With your enchanting sorceries, will not fear 
To make a venture upon pettier theft. 
[7b the Page.'] Sirrah, go bid them wait me here. 

[eait Page. 
Isa, My lord, 

Pm so secure in my own innocence. 

That should your fury riot on my life, 

T would not affright me ; I should meet my death 

As willingly as I should do my rest. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 53 

After a tedious watchinf^ : there's no armour 
Like that of innocence, with which Vm guarded. 
And, therefore, laugh at punishment. 

JSnier a Guard. 

fFai. So brave ? I shall soon quell your insolence. Lay 
hands 
On this ignoble strumpet 1 hang her up here in my pre- 
sence! 
Alb, Stay, sir 1 I do beseech you, hear me. 
fFal. Your entreaties are cast on me, as fools throw oil 
on fire. 
Striving to extinguish it : hang her up ! 
Ill hang you all else. 

Aib. Then, sir, I will speak ; 
Since you forget to be a father to me, 
I will put off my duty. I'm resolv'd. 
Since 'tis impossible that we should live. 
To die together : nor do not, slave, presume 
To touch this mine of purity; 'tis a treasure. 
While Pm alive, hell cannot ravish from me. 
For fiends would fear to touch it. If you murder 
This spotless innocent virgin, you are such. 
So merciless a tyrant, as do love 
To feed on your own bowels ; one whom nature 
Created for a curse, and to get curses : 
Such prodigies as I am, one whom all lovers 
Shall tremble at, if mentioned ; one — 

^a/. 'Death ! have I lost my command ? is he or I 
To be obcy'd ? Hang her ! If he resist^ 



'54 ALBERTUS WALLENSTESN. 

Kill the unnatural traitor ! 

ha. Dear Albertus ! draw not a ruin on thy priceless life 
For my despised sake : I will go to death 
In full peace, as does an anchorite. 
That's assured of all his sin's forgiveness. 

[they lay hanfk (miher. 

Alh, Saucy devil ! 
Carry that touch of her to, hell, 'tvirill serve 
To mitigate thy tortures. 

[kills one of the Guard, and U stabbed, by ^(dleimmn, 

Dutch, O, my lord, what has your fury acted ? 
Dear Albertus ! 

Alb, 'Twas a most friendly hand, ai^d \ coiild ki^s it 
For the most welcome benefit. Isabella, 
In death thou giv'st me life ; thy innocence 
Will, like my guardian angel, safely convey me 
To yonder heav'nly mansion.^ pray» forgive me. 
Dear sir, if, in my over-hasty zeal 
In this poor innocent's quarrel, my wild fury 
Transgress'd my natural duty, and, as the last 
Request your dying son can ask, take pity 
On this most innocent maid. Thy hand, my fair one : 
And now as willingly I do expire. 
As a blest martyr who does court the fire. 
O, Isabella ! [dies, 

Dutch, O, my dear Albertus ! 

Wal, 'Death I slave, dare you play with a fiame 
That shall consume you ? Hang her up ! 
Or torments shall pay your breach of duty. 

Isa, There; friend-; there's all the jewels I am mistress of. 



kiid that thou merit'st. 'Pr'ythee, be as speedy 
ji thy despatch, as fate itself. There is 
pure white ghost, in yon same azure eloud, 
-■lixpects me straight : I come, my dear Albertus 1 

fFal. Take henee their bodies ; 'twas a hopeful boy« 
^^nd one I lov'd well, 'till his wild love 
^nf ade him forget his duty ; and 'tis better 

[e died with fame, his sword in *s hand« than th$t 
[eM liy'd mth foul dishonour ; would he were 
.^^live again ! I do begin to feel 
Strange horrors here, and that big guest, my soul^ 
Ts shaking as with a nipping frost ; hence, idle grief, 
X must be fumish'd with more sprightly passions ; 
Thou art too heavy, fit for the society 
Of none but pensive women. All must die : 
^Why should not he, then ? 'twas hitf destiny. {eaftuf^,' 

SCENE II. 

Enter Gordon, Leslie, and Butler. 

Le8, Are all your horse in readiness ^ 

Gor, Yes, 'tis time 
That we were mounted ; 'tis four leagues, at least. 
Unto the general's camp, and 'twill be late 
Ere we arrive there. Are you yet resolv'd 
Upon the means by which to put in practice 
Our Ibngintended purpose? our delay - 



66 ALBBRTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Will make the emperor apt to call in question 
Our faith's integrity. 

Les, So great a business 
Is not with easy speed to be performed : 
An eager haste oft times o'erthrows the fortunes 
Of such affairs ; if we once get him hither. 
Within our city walls, be confident 
He's in his grave : but have you given command 
That all your soldiei's be in readiness. 
To wMt the general's entry? 

But. They shall be 
In their best furniture of arms, all drawn 
Into parada ; he shall have all pomp. 
And ornament of war, to bid him welcome. 

Les. These triiunphs 
Shall be but funeral pomps before his death. 
Gordon, you must, as governor of Egers, 
Present the keys with all humility. 
To his dispose ; 'twill make him be more careless^ 
And trust his very soul into our hands. 

Gor. Doubt not me ; 
I shall perform with cunning skill, whate'er 
Belongs to me : but do you intend the general 
Alone should fall, or his confederates 
Shall perish with him ? 

Les, O, by all means. Indian princes 
Do carry slaves to wait on them into 
The other world ; and 'twere inglorious 
That our brave general should not have that privilege 1 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 5? 

(yount Tertzki, Kintzki, Newman, Marshall lUawe^ 
Shall be his harbingers, and, i' th' shades below. 
Provide fit entertainment for his ghost. 

But. They are of power ; their deaths will shrewdly 
weaken 
The strength of the conspiracy. 

Les, Very true ; Fll craftily instil into his ears 
New causes of distrust, so to beget 
In him more confidence of my faith, so to 
Allure him hither sooner : we must work 
Surely, as does the mole, who digs 
Her habitation in the earth, and scorns 
All the assaults of tempests : when he's in. 
We must be prompt in action, sure of hand. 
And sound of heart, and strike him with that violence. 
From the supposed heavens 
His ambition climbs to, that the thin ur 
Does, from its purer regions. 
Dull earthly meteors : come, let's away. 
Nought crosses actions like a dull delay. [exeunt, 

SCENE HI. 

• Enter Wallenstein. 

ffal. To be diseas'd in mind, diseas'd past cure 
Of physic or sage counsel, is a madness, 
The- active soldier, all whose ends are glory. 
And that by virtue cowards term a sin, 
(Ambition) should not be acquainted with. 



58 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Although my cares do hang upon my soul 
Like mines of lead, the greatness of my spirit 
Shall shake the sullen weight off: natural rest 
Is, like a wholesome bath to limbs oppressed 
With gouts and aches, to a troubled mind 
A most excelling medicine, and I feel 
A strong propension in my brain to court 
Sleep for its mild physician. Within there,, boy 1 

Enter Page. 

Sirrah 1 be sure that none disturb my rest 
On no occasion ; on your life, I charge you. 

Pag^e, Shall I sing, sir ? 

^al. Yes, if the notes be heavy, apt to invite 
The weary soul to slumbers. {song'. 

Page, Who's there ? you must not enter. 

Enter Dutchess. 

Dutch, Must not, sirrah ! 
Where is your lord? 

Page, Vour pardon, gracious madam ! he's laid down 
To rest ; and has, upon my life, commanded 
Me, none should wake him. 

Dutch, Think'st thou, he is 
So much addicted to his ease he will 
Neglect his business ? Go in, and tell him. 
The governors of Egers, Colonel Gordon 
And Colonel Leslie, are without, upon 
Affairs of consequence. 

Page. Would your grace 



ALBSRTUS WALLENSTEIN^ 59 

Would pardon me ! yourself, with greater safety. 
Might do it, madam. 

Dutch, Foolish boy ! go in ; I will be thy security. 

Page, I shall perform. 
Though most unwillingly, your command. My lord. 
Please you to rise; — ^your dutchess^ 

fFal, Ha! where's my sword ? 
Thou art a coward ghost, and not my son^. 
To take me in my sleep, unarm'd:: my poniiard 
Will still be faithful to me ; if thou be'st not 
Thin air, its point will graze on thee^ [stabs the Page, 

Dutch, O, my lord, . 
What has your fury acted ? this, your sudden 
Murd'ring this innocent youth, doth add new horrors 
To your strange cruelties. 

fFal, Ha ! my page I his death 
Was but due justice for his breach of duty. 
For thus disturbing of my rest^ 

Dutch, My lord, 
Your hands are purpled so in innocent blood. 
Tears cannot wash the tincture off; myself 
Am as deep-guilty as you in the slaughter 
Of Isabella : she was innocent : 
The jewel I accused her of, this morning, 
Grief to my soul! Pve found. Pray heaven, repentance 
May expiate our o£fences ! 

Wal, I begin 
To feel strange horrors here ; my^ marble soul 
Does strive to sweat itself into a tear 
At thought of these sad accidents. 



60 ALBERTUS WALLENST£IN. 

Enter Gordon, Butler, Leslie, Newman, Tertzki, 

KiNTZKI. 

Noble friends ! 

Vou 're opportunely welcome. I was oppress'd 

With sudden melancholy, but your lov'd presence 

Expels all thoughts of it, and I'm grown 

As fiill of sprightly mirth, as when my hopes 

Aim'd at a glorious victory. 

Gor, Mighty duke ! 
According to my duty, I am come 
Here, to present you with the keys of Egers, 
My place of government, and with them my life. 
To do you service. 

Wal Noble Gordon ! 
You do so much endear me by your love, 
I have no possibility to requite 
Your overflow of courtesies : have you not 
Received new intelligence of business 
Which does concern me ? 

Lea, New temptations, sir. 
Against your precious life : 'tis to be fear'd. 
Lest, seeing we do slack so in performance 
Of what we've promis'd, he'll employ new agents 
To attempt your ruin ; and should treason. 
As 'tis a subtle serpent, — stings unseen, sir, — 
Invade your life, to what a dire misfortune 
Were we, whose lives hang upon your dependance, 
Betray'd ; and, therefore, good my lord, beware. 
Lest your own courage, which contemns all dangers. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 61 

Do undo you. 

Wal, Never fear. — How far 
Is't hence to Egers ? 

Gor, Some tliree hours' easy march. 

/Ffl/. Set forward thither : 
It were in vain my enemies' swords to fear. 
When I do carry sharper poniards here. [eaeunt. 



ACT V. SCENE I. 

Enter ihe Emperor, the King of Hungary, and Questenberg. 

Emp, Vex'd with so many cares, so many mischiefs. 
That do, like hydra's dreadful head, increase 
By cutting o£f; as billows follow billows. 
Succeed each other with that eager violence. 
Our weary eagles know not where to perch. 
But flag their sickly wings ; wer't not irreligious, 
I should capitulate with the powers divine, 
^nd tax them of injustice : my whole reign 
Has been a long and one continued trouble ; 
^And if blest peace with her fair beams did e'er 
SShine on our empire, 'twas but like a fair 
^Deceitful wind, courting the ships out of the harbour 
Snto the main to drown them ; but the mother 
Of a more horrid warfare, that I fear, as 
^ found the wreath imperial drown'd in blood. 



62 ALBERTUS WALLENSTBIN. 

So I in blood must leave it. 

Quest. Have good hope, sir : 
Tides then approach their full height, when their ebb 
Has been at lowest ; the most hideous tempests. 
Which seemM to threat the nun of the world. 
Being usher'd in by thunder and hot lightning. 
Are soonest past ; there's nothing violent 
Can boast of perpetuity : our fortunes 
Are not so desperate as our fears present them ; 
We've hands and hearts left yet, that dare oppose 
The inhuman traitor ; and our cause's justice 
Assures us, if we cannot live victorious. 
We shall die nobly. 

Hun, Man, my royal father. 
Is not himself when he beholds 
Events through the quick perspective of fear, 
Which shews him dangers at remotest distance 
As clearest, and his most perspicuous objects. 
Suppose this traitor, in his giant reach. 
Fathom even heaven itself ; yet, there are bolts 
To strike him into earth for his ambition. 
And make his memory and name, all, save his treason. 
For ever to be forgotten. 
Emp. That which most 
Does drive my tortur'd soul into afirights 
Is, that I see we're false among ourselves : 
The faithless soldiers daily do, in troops. 
Fly from our ensigns to the traitor's camp : 
What cause have we then but t' expect sad ruin. 
When those who should be our security 



ALBERTU8 WALLENSTEIN. 63 

Do prove our greatest enemies ? Our guard. 
Our fear, and terror, they all look 
On him, as superstitious Indians on the sun. 
With adoration ; on me, with contempt. 
Or, but at best, with pity. 
Quest. Mighty Caesar 1 
To doubt aA ill before it falls upon us, 
'Mongst valiant and resolved souls, is counted 
A point of cowardice : great spirits ever 
Should be above their fates. Good sir, retreat 
Into that fortress of your mind. 
Your resolution ; call it up to guard 
Your soul from timorous thoughts. 
Are you the man have sway'd 
The Roman empire four and twenty years. 
With that success against your foreign foes. 
Your very name, more than your forces, vanquished. 

To let a traitor fright you? Good my lord. 

Let's draw forth new battalias to the field. 

Awake the drum and trumpet, summon up 

The very last hopes of our weakened strength, 

^Gainst this insulting traitor ; very infants 

^ill, on the sudden, grow up able men. 

And fight in this brave quarrel. 
Hun, Heaven itself 

Wm arm on our side, and, with certain vengeance, 

Pursue the inhuman monster. Why, to die. 
As thaf s the worst can happen, in this cause. 
Were a religious martyrdoni : I am your son, sir. 
And what your fortunes arcy good or disastrous. 



64 ALBERT us WALLENSTEIN. 

Mine has on them dependence : by my hopes, I do 

So little weigh the glorious traitor's pride^ 

I think him worthy scarce my meanest thought; 

And rest assur'd, ere long, I shall behold 

This fearful meteor, that would be a star. 

And does affright us with his hideous blaze. 

Like a vain comet, drop his fading rays. 

Emp, Your comforts 
Come as in droughts the elemental dew 
Does on the earth, — it wets, but leaves no moisture 
To give the sear'd plants growth. But yesternight 
WeM certain informatioAbat our forces. 
Led by Matthias Gallas, were overthrown 
By Saxon Weimar, and his son, young Frederidi^ ; 
AVho, had they known as well how to pursue 
As gain a victory, and made a sudden 
Onslaught upon Vienna, theirs, not ours. 
Had been the wreath imperial. Now, your new8« sir. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess, Letters from Colonel Leslie, Sr, from Egers. 

Emp. This is our latest hope : he writes md word. 
That the arch traitor, and his prime confederms. 
Last night arriv'd at Egers ; and assures me. 
Of their immediate ruin. Well, Colossus, 
You'd best stand firm, unshaken as a rock. 
Whose feet the fierce waves, striving to trip up, • 
Do, 'gainst its hard hoofs, dash themselves to pieces. 
Or thou wilt fall unpitied ; fall, to be 
The scorn of story, the contempt and by- word 



.• 



ALBERTUS WALLBNSTEIN. ^ 

all posterity. Let's in, my lords. 
8 law the heavens inviolably keep, 
'^'^eir justice well may slumber, but ne'er sleep, [exeunt. 



SCENE 11. 

^*»*er Wallbnstbin, Tertzki, Kintzki, Illawe, Newman, 

Leslie, Butler, and Gordon. 

-t^es. The honour you have done us, mighty duke, 
^y this yoQr gracious presence, gives a period 
-"^o our ambition : E^ers is grown proud ; 
^-^res with Vienna stand in competition, 
^^^ich is th^ Capital city, which does hold 
^^e true and lawful Caesar. 

G^. Ferdinand, 
■Ickd he arrivM here in his greatest glory, 
OoqH not have been more welcome : while I am 
^vurnor of this town, it, and my life, 
^ at your service. ^^ 

^^'U^ J*<f oble Gentlemen I 
Yott 4(1^ load) me with new courtesies, 
I knofw li^ first for which to give you thanks ; 
And, did a^Odlen humour not possess 
My mudi tiiiiiemper'd faculties, my mirth 
SMSii, speak my gratitude ; but, on the sudden, 
I tikD so overburthen'd with sad thoughts, 
J eaiinot suit my mind, so much oppress'd, 
TojoUity. 
JJes* Tis our general grief. 



.V 



66 ALBERTUS WALLENSTBIN. 

Au^ht should disturb your quiet here, when we 

Were all composed of triumph, for the joy 

We do conceive for your arrival. My noble Jord of 

Tertzki, these are the welcomes. 

Full bowls of sprightly wine, that soldiers use 

In entertainment : — to our general's health ; 

And to his good recovery from his melancholy. 

Tert. Who shall refuse to pledge it, with that zeal 
He would drink healthful potions, may it be 
A deadly poison to him : Colonel Gordon. 

New. May he die for drought, like a Westphalia pig 
r the dog-days ; or be choakM with eating toasted cheese 

Gor. My lord of Kintzki, 
This to our general's healthj^ and welcome hither. 

New. I'm like to f^nt for thirst : 
Would 'twould arrive at me once ; my mouth 
Even waters at it. 

Kint. Noble Butler ! ^- 

But. Marshall Illawe. 

New. I shall be last, I see ; 
But, if the stoops hold out, 'tis ten to one 
111 have my share. 

Ill, Here, Colonel Newman. 

New. An 'twere the Tun of Heidleberg, I'd drink it 
Off with as much ease as a leaguer can 
In a grim sutler's house of thatch. My lord. 
Under your gracious pardon, take me ojQT 
This lusty rouse to your own health, and after 
Begin as much to each of ours ; and, if 
It do not make you as merry as a corporal 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 67 

pon pay-day, say I'm no iEsculapius, 
lit a mere mountebank in the effects 
sprightly wine. 
Wal, Kind gentlemen, my thanks 
6 all of you ; and would my disposition 
-^^fford me licence, I should not forget 
"Xlie soldier's ceremony, to begin 
Slacli of your happy Mrishes: howsoever, 
X will trench so fiEur on my melancholy, 
'X'o drink this cup : — to all your healths. 

AU, Your grace has shewn us 
wA too excessive courtesy. 

JFaL rU only 
flepose a little ; and, if I find 
I\ly sad distemper alter, I'll return, 
wAnd frolic in your company. 

New. I smell him ; 
He has a plot upon us ; he'll steal hence, 
^nd shift a score or two of cups, and then 
Set fresh upon us, make us all as drunk 
As rats in the Canaries. 

Les, We'll attend your grace. 
WaL By no means : 
Let not my melancholy discompose 
Your thought of frolic mirth : 
There's Colonel Newman 
Will, in my absence, take a cup or two 
For me : mean time, be merry ; 'tis my charge ; 
Remember to observe it. \e^t, 

Les. I'm sorry. 



68 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

He should be thus distempered here. My lord. 
Let not our general's sadness rob us of 
Our late intended jollity : Colonel Newman, 
You'd wont to be all air ; I hope, you are not 
Tum'd earth on the sudden. 

New. No, 'faith : thank heaven, I feel no inclination 
That savors of mortality. Gentlemen, 
Shall's have a catch ? 
AIL With all our hearts, good colonel. 
New, A military madrigal ; I leam'd it 
Of a right imp of Mars, a red fac'd seijeant. 
At Halberstadt. 
Lea, 'Will you begin ? 
New, Yes, verily ; but, good colonel. 
Let not your voice rebel, nor be exalted 
Into a Caledonia tune : 'twill spoil 
Our ditty. \a catch 

Lea, My thanks ! My lords, please you this cup 
To th' happy nuptials 'twixt young Frederick 
And the fair Emilia. 

Gor, Egers will be honour'd 
To have them celebrated here. 

New, Do me right, good colonel : 
You drink it as 'twere scar-beer. 
Lea, Captain Butler. 
New, No whispering, good Colonel Leslie ; 

No whispering : 

You know what follows ; but drink oflF your cup 
Like a right cavalier. This Nectar wine 
Has a strange virtue iu't 5 it elevates 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 69 

>oth flesh and spirit : a month's pay for a wench now. 
L€8. My lord^ I am 
^^o far from giving^ you a fit requital, 
For your late courtesies, that, as satisfaction, 
X must bejf a new favour,— one cup more : 
X««t'8 all together drink a full carouse 
Uiito our general's health, and his revenge 
Upoa the emperor ; you shall drink no more ; 
*^ shall be your last cup, trust me. 

^ew, I shall drink no more, mark that ; pray, fill up 
mine 
_^ill it run o'er ; I would be loth to have 
^^ y last cup faulty. 
^€8, To his revenge ! 

[Enter four Soldiers, with pistols, as they are drinking; 
they shoot Tertzki, Kintzki, Illawe, and Newman, 
who fall, 
T'ert. Tndtorl inhospitable slave ! [dies. 

AVtcf . Pm something hot about the heart ; — 
''^ cup of your small wine to cool me : sure, 
^ou grudg'd my liquor, and so broach'd me behind, 
. * o let out what I had put in before. 'Pox of your pellets, 
^J^y I : I care not for any other hurt they have done me, 
^ut that they have spoil'd my drinking. [dies, 

Z^es. So, this was well performed ; drag in their bodies. 
N^ow, countrymen, our task is half perform'd, 
^e have lopp'd o£f the main arms that did grow 
^<ito this lofty cedar ; there remains 
^ovight but the trunk to cut from earth, and that 
Slkull^ by our own hands, fall : these slaves shall not 



70 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

Have 80 much honour done thtiin, as to triumph 
In our great general's slaughter. As great Julius 
Fell by his much-lov'd Brutus, who, when justice. 
And his dear mother's cause, the common-wealth. 
Commanded him to strike, with one home blow 
Finished brave Caesar's life ; so he, by us^ 
Shall surely perish. Friendship must not save 
Him and his foul ambition from one grave. [eaeunt. 

SCENE III. 

£!nier Wallbnstein. 

^al. Sure, I beheld them, or the ur condensM 
Into their lively figures. In their shrouds. 
Pale and as meagre as they had convers'd 
A year with the inhabitants of the earth. 
And drunk the dew of chamel houses, shewed 
Albertus and his lovely bride. They Mrav'd 
Their ghastly hands to me, as if in that 
Dumb language they'd invited me to come 
And visit them in their cold urns. To die — 
Why, 'tis man's nature, not his punishment : 
With this condition we all enter life. 
To put it off again ; 'tis but a garment. 
And cannot last for ever ; both its fashion 
And stuff will soon wear out : why then should death. 
If I were now creeping into my marble. 
To me be terrible, since 'tis main folly. 
To fear that which we no way can avoid ; 
Nor is 't much matter how we die — by force. 
Or naturally cheque r'd with grisly wounds. 



ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. /I 

Or in our beds^ since all's but the same death still : — 

Oh ! but to die surcharged with mortal sins. 

Such as can kill our eyerlasting beings — 

Our soulSf — and send them hence to bathe in floods 

Of living fire; there, that's the frightful mischief; 

The other 's but a trifle : I, who never 

Could fear the other, at the thought of this 

Am one with death already ; my vast crimes. 

My horrid murders, kill that conscience in me. 

Which makes me know my guilt ; that conscience 

Which, as my shadow, follows me. 

Enter Gordon, Leslie, and Butler. 

Gar, Come softly. 
And if my stroke miss, second me. 

[stabs fFallenstein in the back, 

fFal. Ha ! 'twas no ghost ; that was a mortal touch. 
It came so home and heavily. Base traitor. 
Whoe'er thou art, thou durst not see my face. 
My looks would then have blasted thee. 
Ha ! Leslie, Gordon, Butler ! 

Les. Yes, traitor duke 1 'twas we who cut thy soul 
From thy weak twist of life ; we who glory 
More in performing this brave act of justice. 
Than had we gain'd the empire thy ambition 
Aspired to ; thy base treacheries to Caesar 
Are by us reveng*4. 

Gar. The counts. 
Thy bold confederate rebels, by our hands 
Sent to their ruin. 



72 ALBERTUS WALLENSTEIN. 

fFaL Thus, coward hares 
Prey on a dying lion : for thee, Leslie, 
Basely perfidious to nie in thy faith. 
Receive my last breath in a cnrse : you have 
But play*d the hangmen to perform heaven's justice : 
Forgive me, heaven, my past oflfence ! I die. 
Not for my ambition, but my cruelty. [dies. 

Les. Let us convey the body in, and post 
With all speed to Vienna, and give notice 
To th' empVor of our proceedings. Thus ev'ry traitor shall^ 
'Stead of a crown, meet his own funeral. 



THE END. 



LONDON: 

Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch-street. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 



A TRAGEDY ; 



BY 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, AND THOMAS NASH. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO., 

90, CHEAPSIDF, AND 8, PALL BIALL; 
AND ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH. 



MDCCCXXV. 



LONDON : 
Printed by D. S Maurice, Femshurch Street. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Jupiter. 

Ganymede. 
Cupid. 

Mercury. 

-<Eneas. 

ascanius. 

Achates. 

Ilioneus. 

Cloanthus. 

Seroestus. 

Iarbas. 

Juno. 

Venus. 

Dido. 

Anna. 

Nurse. 



THOMAS NASH. 



Thomas Nash was born at the small sea-port town of 
Leostoff, in Suffolk, probably about the year 1564. He 
was^ as he himself informs us, descended from a family 
who were seated in Hertfordshire. He became a atudent 
of St. John's College, Cambridge, and took his Batchelor's 
degree in 1585. We have assigned his birth to the year 
1564, partly on the authority of a pamphlet, published 
in 1597, entitled The trimming of Thomas Nash, Gentle- 
many by the high tituled Patron Don Richardo de Medico 
Campo, Barber Chirurgeon to Trinity College, in Cam- 
bridge » This production states that he left College at 
seven years' standing, and before he had taken his Master's 
degree, about the year 1587 ; a statement, on the accuracy 
of which we may probably rely, with respect to such a fact 
as this, although proceeding from the pen of an adversary. 
.Assuming, therefore, that Nash went to College at the age 
of sixteen, (about the usual time,) his birth would, accord- 
ing to this authority, have been in the year above mentioned. 
¥'rom Cambridge, he proceeded to London. In the literary 



VI THOMAS NASH. 

warfare between the Puritans, under the name of Martin 
Mar-prelate, and the Church, Nash ranked himself on the 
side of the establishment, and took an active part in the 
controversy. He attacked them in their own style, and 
by the skilful application of his peculiar talents of ridicule 
and invective, he was chiefly instrumental in silencing them. 
Amongst his productions in this contest, were Pap with 
a hatchet, or a fig far my godson, or crack me this nut. To 
be sold at the Crab-tree Cudgel, in Thwack-Coat Lane, 
and An almond for a Parrot, or an alms for Martin. The 
following are also supposed to have been written by 
him : A counter-scuffle given to Martin Jumor. — Martin's 
month's mind. — 7%e return of the renowned Pasquill qf 
England. 

The pamphlet before quoted asserts that Nash, whibt 
at College, had assisted in writing a show called Terminus 
et non Terminus, for which, the person who had been oon- 
cerned with him was expelled ; and that Nash himself was, 
at that time, (1597,) in prison for having written a play cal- 
led Tlie Isle of Dogs ; neither of which facts, consider- 
ing the freedom and severity of his satire, are improbable. 

Nash was one of the choice wits and boon companions of 
his day : if he originally possessed any patrimony, it was 
soon consumed in the dissipations of a town life, and he 
was reduced to dependance on literary patronage and the 
produce of his pen. That the latter was fertile enough, 
must be allowed, but its fruits were not sufficient to supply 
his wants. He commences his Pierce Pennilesse, his sup^ 
plication to the Devil, with a very touching dea^^ription 



THOMAS NASH. Vll 

of his situation. " Haying/' says he, ^' spent many years 
in studying how to liye^ and lived a long time without mo- 
ney; having tired my youth with folly, and surfeited my 
mind with vanity, I began at length to look back to repent- 
ance, and addressed my endeavours to prosperity; but all 
in vain, I sat up late and rose early, contended with the 
cold and conversed with scarcity ; for all my labours turned 
to loss, my vulgar Muse was despised and neglected, my 
pains not regarded, or slightly rewarded, and I myself, in 
prime of my best wit, laid open to poverty." 

From the foUomng passage, it is not improbable that he 
had experienced the bounty of Sir Philip Sidney : ** Gentle 
Sir Philip Sidney, thou knewest what pains, what toils, 
what travail conduct to perfection : well couldest thou give 
every virtue his encouragement, every art his due, every 
writer his desert, 'cause none more virtuous, witty, or lear- 
ned, than thyself. But thou art dead in thy grave, and hast 
left too few successors of thy glory, too few to cherish the 
sons of the Muses, or water those budding hopes with their 
plenty, which thy bounty erst planted." 

Nash appears to have been very much in need of a patron 
at this time : in the production just quoted, he holds out 
flattering promises of what he would do, if any Mecsenas 
would extend his bounty to him : " Gentles," says he, " it 
is not your lay Chronigraphers, that write of nothing but 
Mayors and Sheriffs, and the Dear Year, and the Great 
Frost, that can endow your names with never dated glory : for 
they want the wings of choice words to fly to heaven, which 
we have : they cannot sweeten a discourse, or wrest admira- 



• •• 



Vlll THOMAS NASH. 

tion from men reading, as we can, reporting the meanest 
accident. Poetry is the honey of all flowers, the quint- 
essence of all sciences, the marrow of all wits, and the very 
phrase of angels : how much better is it, then, to have an 
elegant lawyer to plead one's cause, than a strutting towns- 
man that looseth himself in his tale, and doth nothing but 
make legs ; so much it is better for a nobleman or gentle- 
man, to have his honour's story related, and his deeds em- 
blazoned by a Poet than a Citizen, »♦»*»»» 

" For my part, I do challenge no praise of learning to my- 
self; yet have I worn a gown in the university : but this Tdare 
presume, that, if any Mecsenas bind me to him by his bounty, 
or extend some sound liberality to me worth the speaking of, 
I will do him as much honour as any Poet of my beardless 
years shall in England. Not that I am so confident what 
I can do, but that I attribute so much to my thankful 
mind above others, which, I am persuaded, would enable 
me to work miracles. On the contrary side, if I be evil 
intrcated, or sent away with a flea in mine ear, let him 
look that I will rail on him soundly : not for an hour or a 
day, while the injury is fresh in my memory, but in some 
elaborate polished poem, which I will leave to the world 
when I am dead, to be a living image, to all ages, of his 
beggarly parsimony and ignoble illiberality : and let him 
not (whatsoever he be) measure the weight of my words 
by this book, where I write Quicquid in buccam veniret, as 
fast as my hand can trot ; but I have terms (if I be vext) 
laid in steep in aquafortis, and gunpowder, that shall 



THOMAS NASH. IX 

rattle through the skies, and make an earthquake in a pea- 
sant ears. Put case (since I am not yet out of the theme 
of wrath) that some tired jade belon^ng to the press, 
whom I never wronged ia my life, hath named me ex- 
pressly in print (as I will not do him), and accused me of 
want of learning, upbraiding me for reviving in an epistle 
of mine the reverend memory of Sir Thomas Moore, Sir 
John Cheeke, Doctor Watson, Doctor Haddon, Doctor 
Carr, Master Ascham, as if they were no meat but for 
his mastership's mouth, but some such as the son of a 
ropemaker were worthy to mention them. To shew how 
I can rail, thus I would begin to rail on him. — ^Thou that 
hadst thy hood turned over thy ears when thou wert a 
fiatchelor, for abusing of Aristotle, and setting him upon 
the school gates, painted with asses' ears on his head, is it 
any discredit for me, thou great baboon, thou pigmy 
braggart, thou pamphleter of nothing but Peans, to be 
censured by thee, that has scorned the prince of philoso- 
phers ; thou, that in thy dialogues isold'st honey for a half- 
penny, and the choicest writers extant for cues a piece ; 
that cam'st to the logic schools when thou wert a fresh 
man, and writ'st phrases : off with thy gown and untruss ! 
for I mean to lash thee mightily." 

And so he goes on in a strain of vituperation and invec- 
tive, of which few writers can furnish an example. This 
was the commencement of those bitter conflicts between 
Nash and Gabriel Harvey, with which the town was amus- 
ed, and which, at length, attained such a pitch of violence 
and animosity, that the Archbishop of Canterbury issued 



X THOMAS NASH. 

an order, *' that all Nash's books, and Harvey's books^ be 
taken wheresoever they may be found, and that none of 
the said books be ever printed hereafter." These books 
have, in consequence, become exceeding rare. In this 
literary combat, Nash, with his fluent wit, his light and 
airy evolutions, and his caustic invective, had decidedly 
the advantage over the unwieldy pedantry, the clumsy but 
bitter abuse, and cynical hatred, of Harvey j and almost 
literally performed his boast, that if you ''look on his head 
you shall find a grey hair for every line I have wtrit agunst 
him;" and he adds, ''and you shall have all his bea|A 
white too by the time he hath read over this book."* Be- 
fore his death, however, Nash, if we are to believe his 
Dedication of Chriafs Tears aver Jerusalem^ addressed to 
Lady Elizabeth Carey, grew weary of this employment. 
" A hundred unfortunate farewells," says he, ^' to fantasti- 
cal satyrism, in whose veins heretofore I mispent my^ spi- 
rit, and prodigally conspired against good hours. Nothing 
is there now so much in my vows as to be at peace with 
all men, and make submissi/e amends where I havQ most 
displeased." '** 

This piquant satirist died, it is supposed, in 1600 or 1601, 
he having published a pamphlet in 1599, and being spoken 
of as dead in The Return from Parnassus, which is sup- 
posed to have been written in 1602, and was acted in 1606. 

Nash enjoyed a great reputation amongst the wits of his 
time. Dr. Lodge calls him " the true English Aretine. 

« Have with you to Saflfron-Walden, or Gabriel Harvey's Hunt is up, 1594. 



99 



THOMAS NASH. XI 

Drayton says of him — 

** And surely, Nash, tho* he a proser were, 
'^ A brandi of laurel yet desenres to bear ; 

Sharply satirick was he, and that way 
He went, since that his b^ng, to this day, 
F^w have attempted ; and I surely think 
Those words shall hardly be set down in ink, 
ShaU scorch and blast, so as his could, when he 
Would inflict vengeance." 

And in the play of 7^e Return from Parnassus, he is 
characterized as " a fellow that carried the deadly stock* 
in his pen, whose Muse was armed with a gag-tooth, and 
his pen possessed with Hercules' furies/' which is suc- 
ceeded by the following Jines : — 

** liet all his faults sleep with his mournful chest. 

And then for ever with his ashes rest; 

His style was witty, though he had some gall ; 

Something he might have mended ; so may all : 
^ Yet this I sa3^ that, for a mother wit. 

Few men have ever seen the like of it." 

His dramatic productions consist of Summer's last fFili 
f»nd Testament, a Comedy, 4to., 1600 1 The Isle of Dogs, 
i:iever printed; and Dido, Queen of Carthage, a Tragedy, 
'4to., 1594, in which he was assisted by Marlowe. 

Nash does hot appear, from the specimens he has left us, 

to bave possessed much dramatic talent : his Summer's last 

fFUl and Testament is more closely allied to satire than 

the drama ; partakes more of invective than of passion ; 

and Dido, of which he, probably, wrote the greater part, 

« Stocco, a long rapier. 



XU THOMAS NASH. 

is little more than a narrative taken from Virgil, c( 
stmcted according to the form of a drama, but contain! 
little of the essence of that species of composition. 






THE TRAGEDIE OF DIDO, 



QUEEN OF CARTHAGE; 



• .ATBD BT THE CHILDREN OF HER MAIESTIE's CHAPPELL. 



WRITTKN BV 



CHRI^OPHER MARLOWE, AND THOMAS NASH, GENT. 



A(tOt0« 



JUPITER. 


ASCANIUS. 


OANIMEDE. 
VENUS. 


DIDO. 


ANNA. 


CUPID. 


ACHATES. 


JUNO. 


ILIONEUS. 


MERCURIE, Oft 


lARBAS. 


HERMES. 


CLOANTIIES. 


£NEAS. 


SERGESTU8. 



AT LONDON : 

PRINTED, BY THR WIDDOWE ORWIN, for THOMAS WOODCOCKE, 

AND ARB TO VB SOLDB AT HIS SHOP, IN PAULX'S CHURCH- YARD, 
AT THB 6I0NB OF THK BLACKS BBARE. 



15.94. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE, 

Is included in this collection for two reasons : first, the 
early period at which it was written, (before 1692) 5 and, se- 
condly, the extreme rarity of it ; there heihg, we believe, 
only two copies kno^vn to exist in England. Possessing 
very little intrinsic merit as a play, it is now reprinted 
chiefly for the purpose of illustrating the progress of dra- 
matic art in this country, which forms part of the design 
of the present work. 



> »■ 



■i 

■J 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CART&AGE. 



ACT I. SCENE I. 

^ere the curtains draw : — there is discovered Jupiter dandling 
Ganym£DE upon his knee, and Mercury lying asleep. 

Jup, Come, gentle Ganymede, and play with me ; 
I love thee well, say Juno what she will. 

Gan, I am much better for your worthless love, 
That will not shield^me from her shrewish blows : 
To-day, when as I fiU'd into your cups. 
And held the cloth of pleasance while you drank. 
She reach'd me such a rap for that I spill'd. 
As made the 6lood run down about mine ears. 

Jup. Whath dares she strike the darling of my 
thoughts ? 
By Saturn's soul, and this earth threatening air, 
Thaty shaken thrice, makes nature's buildings quake, 
I ¥0W, if she but once frown on thee more. 
To hang her, meteor-like, 'twixt heaven and earth. 
And bind her nand and foot with golden cords, 

B 



2 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

As once I did for harming Hercules ! 

Gan, Might I but see that pretty sport a-foot, 
O how would I with Helen's brother laugh. 
And bring the Gods to wonder at the game. 
Sweet Jupiter ! if ejtC'i pleas'd thine eye. 
Or seemed JfljJHTwilQM-in with eagle's wings, 
Grace m$ UiKAEiortal beauty with this boon. 
And I willis^eiid my time in thy bright arms. 

Jup. What \%\ sweet wag, I should deny thy youth ? 
Whose face reflectsJUich pleasure to mine eyes. 
As I, exhtf 4ii4lfllfthy fire-darting b^ms. 
Have oft driven back the horses J>f the nighty 
When as they would have hirira th^ from my sight. 
Sit on my knee, and caUffior thy content, 
G(^ntroul proud fate>^a«4 cut the thread of time : 
Why, are not all the go&«t thy command. 
And heaven and earth the bounds of thy delight ? 
Vulcui shall dance to make thee laughing sport. 
And my nine daughters sing when thou art sad ; 
Frctjocv J.uttq'4i-MM I'll pluck her spotted pride, 
T« mdKe thee fans wherewith to cool thy face ; 
And VeAQs' swans shall, shed their silver down. 
To s>¥eeten out the slumbers of thy bed .* 

V Heripes no mo^i^all shew the world his wings, 

yf tl^t^ thy fancy in his feathers dweU, ' 
jSut as this one 111 tear them all from him. 
Do thou but say, *' their colour pleaseth me." 

'Hold here, my little love, these linked gems, 

^^y Juno wore upon her marriage day> 
Put thou about thy neck, my own sweet heart. 






DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 3 

trick thy arms and shoulders with my theft. 
Van, I would have a jewel for mine ear, 
^^^■^d a fine broach to put into my hat, 

^=%.d then I'll hug with you a hundred times. 
^up. And shalt have, Ganymede, if thou wilt be my 
love. 

Enter Venus. 

Ven, Aye, this4& it ; you can sit toying there, 
nd playing with nat female wanton boy, 

^^^ile my,iBneas wanders on the seas, 

"^jid rejl^ i| prey to every billow's pride. 

^^no, m Juno> in her chariot's pomp, 

l^rawnllffough the heavens by steeds of Boreas' brood, 

^Made Hebe to iBrect her airy wheels 

Into the widdy country of the^douds ; 

A^Hiere, finding ^ohis intrench'd with storms, 

-And gaarde4 with a thousand grisly ghosts, 

^he humbly did beseech him for our bane, 

.And charg'd him drown my son with all his train. 

rrhen 'gan the winds break ope their brazen doors, ^ 

.And all ^olia to be up in arms ; 

Poor Troy must now be sack'd upou'the sea, 

.And Neptune's waves be envious men of ^{ir; 

Epeus' horse to Etna's hill transform'd, *^ 

lE^epared stands to wreck their wooden wallfi ; 

.And ^olus, like Agamemnon, sounds 

rrhe surges, his fierce soldiers, to the spoil : 

See how the night, Ulysses-like, comes forth, 

.And intercepts the day as Dolon erst ! 



4 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Ah, me ! the stars surprised, like Rhesus' steeds. 
Are dra^vn by darkness forth Astraea's tents. 
What shall I do to save thee, my sweet boy ? 
When as the waves do threat our crystal world. 
And Proteus, raising hills of floods on high. 
Intends, ere long, to sport him in .the sky. 
False Jupiter 1 reward*st thou virtue so ? 
What 1 is not piety exempt from woe ? 
Then die, ^neas, in thy innocence. 
Since that religion hath no recompence. 

Jup. Content thee, Cytherea, in thy care. 
Since thy iEneas' wandering fate is firm. 
Whose weary limbs shall shortly make repose 
In those fair walls I promisM him of yore : 
But first in blood must his good fortune bud. 
Before he be the lord of Turnus' town. 
Or force her smile, that hitherto hath frown'd : 
Three winters shall he with the Rutiles war. 
And, in the end, subdue them with his sword ; 
And full three summers likewise shall he waste. 
In managing those fierce barbarian minds ; 
Which once performed, poor Troy, so long suppressed. 
From forth her ashes shall advance her head. 
And flourish once again, that erst was dead : 
But bright Ascanius' beauties better work. 
Who with the sun divides one radiant shape. 
Shall build his throne amidst those starry towers. 
That earth-bom Atlas, groaning, underprops : 
No bounds, but heaven, shall bound his empery. 
Whose azur'd gates, enchased with his name. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

^hall make the morning haste her grey uprise^ 

To feed her eyes with his engraven fame. 

Thus^ in stout Hector's race, three hundred years 

The Roman sceptre royal shall remain. 

Till that a princess, priest-conceiv'd by Mars, 

Shall yield to dignity a double birth. 

Who will eternise Troy in their attempts. 

Ven. How may I credh these thy flattering terms. 
When yet both sea and sand beset their ships, 
And Phoebus, as in Stygian pools, refrains 
To tunt his tresses in the Tyrrhene main ? 

Jup, I will take order for that presently : — 
Hermes, awake ! and haste to Neptune's realm ; 
Whereas the wind-god, warring now with fate. 
Besiege the offspring of our kingly loins. 
Charge him ftrom me to turn his stormy powers. 
And fetter them in Vulcan's sturdy brass. 
That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsman's peace* 
Venus, farewell I thy son shall be our care ; 
Come, Ganymede, we must about this gear. 

[exeunt Jupiter and Oanymede, 

yen. Disquiet seas, Iby down your swelling looks. 
And court ^neas with your calmy cheer. 
Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud. 
Had not the heavens, conceiv'd ^vith hell-born clouds, 
Veil'd Ws resplendent glory from your view ; 
For my sake, pity him, Oceanus, 
That crst-while issued from thy wat'ry loins. 
And had my being from thy bubbling froth : 
Triton, I know, hath fill'd his trump with Troy, 



6 DIDO« QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

And, therefore, will take pity on Ms toil. 
And call both Thetis and Cymodoce, 
To succour him in this extremity. 

Enter ^Gneas, Ascanius, Achates, attd one or two more. 

^^at ! do I see my son now come on shore ? 
Venus, how art thou compasa'd with content. 
The while thine eyes attract their sought-for joys : 
Gr^at Jupiter ! still hoaour'd may'st thou be. 
For this so friendly aid in time of needl ^ 
Here in this bush disguised will I stand. 
Whiles my iEneas spends himself in plaints. 
And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints. 

jEn. You soiis of care, companion^ isf my course, 
Priam's misfortune follows us by sea. 
And Helen's rape- doth haunt us at the heels. 
How many dangers have we overpast? 
Both barking Scylla, and the sounding rocks. 
The Cyclops' shelves, and grim Ceraunia's seat. 
Have you o'ergone, and yet remain alive. 
Pluck up your hearts, since fate still rests our friend. 
And changing heavens may those good days return. 
Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride. 

j4cka. Brave Prince of Troy, thou only art our god. 
That, by thy virtues, free'st us from annoy. 
And mak'st our hopes survive to cunning joys ! 
Do thou but smile, and cloudy heaven will clear. 
Whose night and day desc^Rdeth from thy brows : 
Though we be now in extreme misery, ♦ 
And rest the map of weather-beaten woe. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 7 

Tet shall the aged sun shed forth his air. 
To make U9 live unto our former heat. 
And every beast the forest doth send forth. 
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted food. 
Asca, Father, I faint i good father, give me meat. 
JBn. Alas ! sweet boy, thou must be still awhile, 
Tjll we have fire to dress the meat we kill'd ; 
Gentle Achates, reach the tinder-box. 
That we may make a fire to warm us with. 
And roast our new found victuals on this shore. 
yen. See #hat strange arts necessity finds out ; 
« How near, my sweet iEneas, art thou driven. 

^n. Hold I take this candle, and go light a fire ; 
Vou shall have leaves and windfall boughs enow 
Near to these woods, to roast your meat withal : 
Ascanius, go and dry thy drenched limbs, 
While I with my Achates roam abroad. 
To know what coast the wind hath driven us on. 
Or whether men or beasts inhabit it. 

Acha, The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit 
For cities, and society's supports ; 
Yet much I marvel that I cannot find 
No steps of men imprinted in the earth. 

Ven. 'Soyf is the time for me to play my part : [aside. 
Ho, young men ! saw you, as you came. 
Any of all, my sisters wand'ring here. 
Having a quiver girded to her side. 
And dothedaii a spotted leopard's skin ? 

^n, I neither saw nor Ifeard of any such ; 
But what may I, fair virgin, call your name ? 



8 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Whose looks set forth no mortal form to view. 

Nor speech bewrays ought human in thy birth ; 

Thou art a goddess that delud'st our eyes. 

And shroud'st thy beauty in this borroVd shape ; 

But whether thou the sun's bright sister he. 

Or one of chaste Diana's fellow nymphs. 

Live happy in the height of all content. 

And lighten our extremes with this one boon. 

As to instruct us under what^yood heaven 

We breathe as now, and what this world is call'd 

On which, by tempests' fury, we are cast ? ; 

Tell us, O tell us, that are ignorant ; 

And this right hand shall make thy altars cracl^ 

With mountain heaps of milk-white sacrifice. 

Ven. Such honour, stranger, do I not affect^ 
It is the use for Tynan maids to wear 
Their bow and quiver in tlus modest sort. 
And suit themselves in purple for the nonce. 
That they may trip more lightly o'er the ^wns, y\ 
And overtake the tusked boar in chase. 
But for the land whereof thou dost enquire. 
It is the Punick kingdom, rich and strong, 
Ai^oining on Agenor's stately town. 
The kingly seat of Southern Lybia, 
Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as queen. 
But what are you that ask of me these things ? 
Whence may you come, or whither will you go ? 

^n. Of Troy am I, iEneas is my name ; 
AVho, driv'n by war from forth my native world. 
Put sails to sea to seek out Italy ; 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 

^^Vnd my divine descent from sceptr'd Jove : 
^^Vith twice twelve Phrygian ships I ploughed the deep, 
^And made that way my mother Venus led ; 
IBut of them all scarce seven do anchor safe, 
^And they so wrack'd and weltered by the waves, 
^As every tide tilts 'twixt their oaken sides ; 
^And all of them, unburthen'd of their load, 
^Are ballasted with billows' waf ry weight. 
IKut hapless I, God wot 1 poor and unknown, 
3Do trace these Lybian deserts all despised, 
IZxil'd forth Europe and wide Asia both, 
^And have not any Coverture but heaven. 

Vsn. Fortune hath favoured thee, whatever thou be, 
Xn sending thee unto this courteous coast : 
Sn God's name, on 1 and haste thee to the court, 
"^Vhere Dido wiU receive ye with her smiles ; 
^^nd for thy ships, which thou supposest lost, 
fot one of them hath perish'd in the storm, 
\vlX are arri^'^.d safe/'jeot far from hence; 
^^nd so I leave thee to thy fortune's lot, 
^^^hing good luck unto thy wand'ring steps. \_emt, 

JEn, Achates, 'tis my mother that is fled ; 
X know her by the movings of her feet : 
Stay, gentle Venus, fly not from thy son; 
Too cruel I why wilt thou forsake me thus ? 
Or in these shades deceiv'st mine eyes so oft? 
Why talk we not together hand in hand. 
And tell our griefs in more familiar terms ? 
Bat thou art gone, and leav'st me here alone. 
To dull the air with my discoursive moan. [eweuni. 



10 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 



SC^NE n. 



x-" 



Emttr Iakaas, J ^I U m td h§ Ilioneus, Cloanthus, and Serg 

TU8. 

Hh. FoUow, ye Trojans I follow this brave lord. 
And 'plain to him the sum of your distress. 

Imr. Why, what are yon, or wherefore do you sue ? 

/2m. Wretches of Troy, envied of the winds. 
That crave such &vour at your honour's feet. 
As poor distressed misery may plead : 
Save, save, O save our ships from cruel fire. 
That do complain the wounds of thousand waves. 
And spare our lives, whom Qsisry spite pursues. 
We come not, we, to wrong your Lybian gods. 
Or steal your household lares from their shrines : 
Our hands are not prepar'd to lawless spoil. 
Nor armed to offisnd in any kind ; 
Such force is far from our unweapon'd thoughts. 
Whose fading weal, of victory forsook. 
Forbids all hope to harbour near our hearts. 

lar. But tell me, Trojans, Trojans if you be. 
Unto what fruitful quarters were ye bound. 
Before that Boreas buckled with your sails ? 

Cloan, There is a place, Hesperia term'd by us. 
An ancient empire, famoused for arms> 
And fertile in fair Ceres' furrow'd wealth. 
Which now we call Italia, of his name 
That in such peace long time did rule the same. 
Thither made we ; 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 1 1 

When, guddenly, gloomy Orion rose^ 
And led our ships into the shallow sands ; 
Whereas the southern wind, with brackish breath, 
Dispers'd them all amongst the wreckful rocks ; 
From thence a few of us escap'd to land ; 
The rest, we fear, are folded in the floods. 

far. Brave men at arms, abandon fruitless fears. 
Since Carthage knows to entertain distress. 

Serg, Aye, but the barbarous sort do threat our ships. 
And will not let us lodge upon the sands ; 
In multitudes they swarm unto the shore. 
And from the first earth interdict our feet. 

far. Myself will see they shall not trouble ye . 
Vour men and you shall b aquet in our court. 
And ev'ry Trojan be as welcome here. 
As Jupiter to silly Baucis' house. 
Gome in with me, Pll bring you to my queen. 
Who shall confirm my words with further deeds. 

Serg, Thanks, gentle lord, for such unlook'd-for grace; 
Might we but once more see iEneas' face. 
Then would we hope to 'quite such friendly turns. 
As shall surpass the wonder of our speech. [eofeunt. 



ACT II. SCENE I. 



ErUer iENEAS, Achates, afi</ Ascanius. 
n. Where am I now ? these should be Carthage walls. 



t. 



12 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Acha. Why stands my sweet ^neas thus amaz*d ? 

^n, O, my Achates ! Thehan Niobe, 
Who, for her sons' death, wept out life and breath. 
And, dry with grief, was tnm'd into a stone. 
Had not such passions in her head as I. ^ 
Methinks, that town there should be Troy, yon Ida's hiU, 
There Xanthus* stream, because here's Priamus, 
And when I know it is not, then I die. 

Acha, And in this humour is Achates too ; 
I cannot choose but fall upon my knees, , 
And kiss his hand ; O, where is Hecuba? 
Here she was wont to sit, but saving air 
Is nothing here ; and what ii this but stone ? 

jEn, O, yet this stone doth make ^neas weep ; 
And, would my prayers (as Pygmalion's did) 
Could give it life, that under his conduct 
We might sail back to Troy, and be reveng'd 
On these hard-hearted Grecians, which rejoice 
That nothing now is left of Priamus ! 
Oh, Priamus is left, and this is he : 
Come, come aboard ; pursue the hateful Greeks. 
Acha. What means iEneas ? 

jEn. Achates, though mine eyes say this is stone. 
Yet thinks my mind that this is Priamus ; 
And when my grieved heart sighs and says no. 
Then would it leap out to give Priam life : 
O were I not at all, so thou might's t be! 
Achates, see. King Priam wags his hand ; 
He is alive ; Troy is not overcome ! 
Acha, Thy mind, iEneas, that would have it so. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 13 

Deludes thy eyesight ; Priamus is dead. 

^n. Ah^ Troy is sackM, and Priamus is dead ; 
And why should poor iEneas be alive ? 

^sca. Sweet father, leave to weep, this is not he : 
For were it Priam, he would smile on me. 

^cha, iEneas, see, here come the citizens ; 
Leave to lament, lest they laugh at our fears. 

Enter Cloanthus, Sergestus, and Ilioneus. 

• • . ' 

jEn, Lords of this town, or whatsoever style 
Belongs unto your name, vouchsafe of ruth 
To tell us who inhabits this fair town, 
Vliat kind of people, and who governs them : 
For we are strangers driv'n on this shore, 
^nd scarcely know within what clime we are. 

Ilio. I hear ^Eneas' voice, but see him not. 
For none of these can be our^general. 

Acha. Like Ilioneus speaks this nobleman. 
But Ilioneus goes not in such robes. 

Serg. You are Achates, or I deceived. 

^cha. ^neas, see Sergestus, or his ghost. 

liio. He names iEneas ; let us kiss his feet. 

Cioan. It is our captain, see Ascanius. 

Serg. Live long iEneas and Ascanius ! 

^n. Achates, speak, for I am overjoy'd. 

Acha. O, Ilioneus, fu*t thou yet alive ? 

Ilio* Blest be the time I see Achates' face. 

Cioan. Why turns iEneas from his trusty friends ? 

jEn, Sergestus, Ilioneus, and the rest. 
Your sight amaz'd me : O, what destinies 



14 . OIDO* QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 

Have brought my sweet companions in snch plight i 
O, teU m&, for I long to be resolvM. 

Ilio. Lovely iEneas, these are Carthage walls. 
And here Queen Dido wears th' imperial crown ; 
Who, for Troy's sake, hath entertained us all. 
And clad us in these wealthy robes we wear. 
Oft hath she ask'd us under whom we serv'd^ 
And when we told her, she would weep for grief. 
Thinking the sea had swaUow^d up thy ships ; 
And now she sees thee, how will she rejoice. 

Serg, See, where her servitors pass through the hall 
Bearing a banquet ; Dido is not far. 

Ilio, Look where she comes : ^Blas, view her well. 

JEn, Well may I view her, but she se^not me. # 

Enter Dido and her Train. 

Dido, What stranger art thou, that dost eye me thus i 

JEn, Sometime I was a Trojan, mighty ^een : 
But Troy is not ; — ^what shall I say I am? ^' 

Ilio, Renowned Dido, 'tis pur general, warlike iEneas. 

Dido, Warlike iEneas 1 anaWthese base robes ? 
Go, fetch the garment which Sicleus wore : 
Brave prince^ welcome to Carthage and to me ! 
Both happy that iEneas is our guest : 
Sit in this chsdr, and banquet with|^queen $ 
iEneas is iEneas, were he clad 
In weeds as bad as ever Irus wore. 

JEn, This is no seat for one that's comfortless : 
May it please your grace to let iEneas wait ; 
For though my birth be great, my fortune's mean. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 15 

Too me&n to be companion to a queen. 

Dido. Thy fortune may be greater than thy birth : 
"^iSit down, ^neas, sit in Dido's place. 
And if this be thy son, as I suppose. 
Here let him sit ; be merry, lovely child. 

^n. This place beseems me not ; O, pardon me. 

Dido. I'll have it so ; ifineas, be content: 

Asca. Madam, you shall be my mother. 

Dido. And so I will, sweet child : be merry, man. 
Here's to thy better fortune and good stars. 

J^. In all humility, I thank your grace. 

Dido, Remember who thou art, speak like thyself ; 
Humility belongs to common grooms. 

jEn. And who so miserable as iEneas is ? 

Dido. Lies it in Dido's hands to make thee blest ? 
Then be assur'd thou art not miserable. 

JEn. O Priamus, O Troy, O Hecuba 1 

Dido. May I entreat thee to discourse at large. 
And truly too, how Troy was overcome ? 
For many tales go of that city's faU, 
And scarcely do agree upon, one point : 
Some say Antenor did betray the town ; 
Others report 'twas Sinon's perjury ; 
But aU in this, that Troy is overcome. 
And Priam dead ; yet how, we hear no news. 

jEn. A woeful tale bids Dido to unfold. 
Whose memory, like pale death's stony mace. 
Beats forth my senses from this troubled soul. 
And makes iEneas sink at Dido's feet. 

Dido. What ! faints iEneas to remeimber Troy, 



rs 



16 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Ill whose defence he fought so valiantly ? 
Look up, and speak. 

^19. Then speak, ^neas, with Achilles' tongue ! 
And Dido, and you Carthagenian peers, «. 
Hear me 1 but yet with Myrmidons' harsh e1^, 
Daily inur'd to broils and massacres, 
Lest you be mov'd too much with my sad tale. 
The Grecian soldiers, tir'd with ten years' war. 
Began to cry, " Let us unto our ships, 
Troy is invincible, why stay we here ?" 
With whose outcries Atrides being appalled, 
Summon'd the captains to his princely tent $ 
Who, looking on the scars we Trojans gave. 
Seeing the number of their men decreas'd. 
And the remainder weak, and out of heart. 
Gave up their voices to dislodge the camp. 
And so in troops all march'd to Tenedos ; 
Where, when they came, Ulysses on the sand 
Assayed with honey words to turn them back : 
And as he spoke, to further his intent. 
The winds did drive huge billows to the shore. 
And heaven was darkened with tempestuous clouds : 
Then he alleg'd the gods would have them stay. 
And prophecied Troy should be overcome : 
And therewithal he call'd false Sinon forth, 
A man compact of craft and perjury, 
Whose 'ticing tongue was made of Hermes' pipe. 
To force a hundred watchful eyes to sleep : 
And him, Epeus having made the horse. 
With sacrificing wreaths upon his head. 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 1? 

^ysses sent to our unhappy town> 

^W1io» groy'lmg in the mire of Zanthus' banks, 

His hands bound at his back, and both his eyes 

Turn'd up to heaven, as one resoiv'd to die. 

Our Phrygian shepherds hal'd within the gates. 

And brought unto the court of Priamus ; 

To whom he-us'd action so pitiful. 

Looks so remorseful, vows so forcible. 

As therewithal the old man, overcome, 

Kiss'd him, embraced him, and unloos'd his bands. 

And then,— O Dido, pardon me. 
Dido. Nay, leave not here ; resolve me of the rest. 
jEn. Oh ! the enchanting words of that base slave. 

Made hikn to think Epeus' pine-tree horse 

A sacrifice f appe-ase Minerva's wrath ; 
The rather, for that one Laocoon, 
Breaking a spear upon his hollow breast. 
Was with two winged serpents stimg to death. 
Whereat, aghast, we were commanded straight. 
With reverence, to draw it into Troy ; 
In which imiiappy work was I employed : 
These hands did help to hale it to the gates, 
Through which it could not enter, 'twas so huge. 
O, had it never enter'd, Troy had stood. 
But Priamus, impatient of delay. 
Enforced a wide breach in that rampir'd wall. 

Which thousand battering rams could never pierce. 

And so came in this fatal instrument : 

At whose accursed feet, as oveijoy'd. 

We banqueted, till, overcome with wine, 

c 



18 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Some surfeited, and others soundly slept. 

Which Sinon viewing, caus'd the Greekish spies 

To haste to Tenedos, and tell the camp : 

Then he unlock'd the horse, and suddenly 

From out his entrails, Neoptoiemus, 

Setting his spear upon the ground, leapt forth. 

And after him a thousand Grecians more. 

In whose stem faces shin'd the quenchless fire. 

That after burnt the pride of Asia. 

By this the camp was come unto the walls. 

And through the breach did mardi into the streets; 

Where, meeting with the rest, •*' kill ! kill !" they cry'd. 

Frighted with this confused noise, I rose. 

And looking from a turret, might behold 

Young infants swimming intheir parents' blood ! 

Headless carcases piled up in heaps ! 

Virgins, half dead, dragged by their golden hair. 

And with main force flung on a ring of pikes 1 

Old men with swords thrust through their aged sides. 

Kneeling for mercy to a Greekish lad. 

Who, with steel pole-axes, dash'd out thdr brains. 

Then buckled I mine armour, drew my sword. 

And thinking to go down, came Hector*s ghost. 

With ashy visage, blueish sulphur eyes. 

His arms torn from his shoulders, and his breast 

Furrow'd with wound, and, that which made me weep» 

Thongs at his heels, by which AchiUes' horse 

Drew him in triumph through the Greekish camp. 

Burst from the earth, crying, "Mneas, fly, 

Troy is a-fire 1 the Grecians have the town 1" 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 19 

Dido. O, Hector ! who weeps not to hear thy name ? 
^n. Yet flung I forth, and, desperate of my life, 
m in the thickest throngs, and, with this sword. 

Sent many of their savage ghosts to hell. 

At last came Pyrrhus, fell and full of ire. 

His harness dropping blood, and on his spear 

The mangled head of Priam's youngest son ; 

And, after him, his band of Myrmidons, 

With balls of wild-fire in their murdering paws. 

Which made the funer^-flame that burnt fair Troy ; 

AU which hemm'd me about, crying. This is he 1 
IHdo. Ha ! how could poor iEneas 'scape their hands ? 
JBn, My mother, Venus, jealous of my health, 

Oonvey'd me from their crooked nets and bands ^ 
^o I escap'd the furious Pyrrhus' wrath : 
AVho then ran to the palace of the king, 
A.ad, at Jove's altar, finding Priamus, 
About whose wither'd neck hung Hecuba, 
I'olding his hand in her's, and jointly both 
Seating their breasts, and falling on the ground, 
He with his faulchion's point raised up at once. 

And with Megara's eyes star'd in their face, 
Threat'ning a thousand deaths at every glance ; 

To whom the aged king thus trembling spoke : — 

*' Achilles' son, remember what I was. 

Father of fifty sons, but they are slain ; 

Lord of my fortune, but my fortune's tum'd ! 
. King of this city, but my Troy is fir'd I 

And now am neither father, lord, nor king ! 

Yet who so wretched but desires to live? 



20 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

O, let me live, great Neoptolemus !" 
Not mov'd at all, but smiling at his tears. 
This butcher, whilst his hands were yet held up. 
Treading upon his breast, struck off his hands. 
Dido, O end, iEneas, I can hear no more. J^.' 

^n. At which the frantic queen leap'd on his face. 
And in his eyelids hanging by the nails, 
A little while prolonged her husband's life. 
At last, the soldiers pulPd her by the heels. 
And swung her howling in the empty air. 
Which sent an echo to the wounded king : 
Whereat, he lifted up his bed-rid limbs, 
And would have grappled with Achilles' son. 
Forgetting both his want of strength and hands ; 
Which he, disdaining, whisk'd his sword about. 
And with the wound thereof the king fell down ; 
Then from the navel to the throat at once 
He ripp'd old Priam, at whose liatter gasp, 
Jove's marble statue 'gan to bend the brow. 
As loathing Pyrrhus for this wicked act. 
Yet he, undaunted, took his father's flag. 
And dipp'd it in the old king's chill-cold blood. 
And then in triumph ran into the streets. 
Through which he could not pass for slaughter'd men ; 
So, leaning on his sword, he stood stone still. 
Viewing the fire wherewith rich Ilion burnt. 
By this, I got my father on my back. 
This young boy in mine arms, and by the hand 
Led fair Creusa, my beloved wife ; 
When thou. Achates, with thy sword mad'st way 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 21 

-Aid we were round environed with the Greeks, 

O thefe I lost my wife 1 and had not we 

Fought manfully, I had not told this tale. 

Yet manhood would not serve ; of force we fled ; 

And as we went unto our ships, thou know'st 

We saw Cassandra sprawling in the streets. 

Whom Ajax ravish'd in Diana's fane, 

Her cheeks swoin with sighs, her hair all rent, 

Whom I took up to bear unto our ships ; 

But suddenly the Grecians foUow'd us. 

And I, alas ! was forced to let her lie.: 

Then got we to our ships, and, being aboard, 

Polyxena cried out, iEneas ! stay ! 

The Greeks pursue me ! stay, and take me in ! 

Mov'd witli her voice, I leapM into the sea. 

Thinking to^bear her on my back aboard. 

For all our ships were launched into the deep. 

And, as I swam, she, standing on the shore. 

Was by the cruel Myrmidons surprised. 

And after by that Pyrrhus sacrific'd. 

Dido, I die with melting ruth ; 'iEneas, leave 1 

Anna. O what became of aged Hecuba ? 

lar. How got iEneas to the fleet again ? 

Dido. But how 'scaped Helen, she that caused this war? 

^n. Achates, speak, sorrow hath tir'd me quite. 

Acha. What happened to the queen we cannot shew; 
We hear they led her captive into Greece : 
As for iEneas, he swam quickly back. 
And Helena betrayed Deiphobus, 
Her lover, after Alexander died. 



22 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

And so was reconcile to Menelaus. 

Dido. O, had that 'ticing strumpet ne'er been bom ! 
Trojan, thy ruthM tak hath made me sad. 
Come, let us think upon some pleasing sport. 
To rid me from these melancholy thoughts, [eaeunt omnes. 

m 

Enter Venus and Copro, Venus takes Ascanius hjf the Heeve. 

Ten, Fair child, stay thou with Dido's waiting maid ; 
rU give thee sugar-almonds, sweet conserves, 
A silver girdle, and a golden purse. 
And this young prince shall be thy playfeUow. 

Asc. Are you Queen Dido's son ? 

Cup, Aye, and my mother gave me this fine bow. 

Asc. Shall I have such a quiver and a bow? 

f^en. Such bow, such quiver, and such golden shafts. 
Will Dido give to sweet Ascanius. 
For Dido's sake I take thee in my arins. 
And stick these spangled feathers in thy hat ; 
Eat comfits in mine arms, and I will sing. 
Now is he fast asleep, and in this grove. 
Amongst green brakes I'll lay Ascanius> 
And strew him with sweet-smelling violets. 
Blushing roses, purple hyacinth : 
Thesc'ihilk-white doves shall be his sentinels. 
Who, if that any seek to do him hurt, 
WiU quickly fly to Cytherea's fist. 
Now, Cupid, turn thee to Ascanius' shape. 
And go to Dido, who, instead of him, 
Will set thee on her lap, and play with thee ; 
Then touch her white breast with this arrow head. 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 23 

Tkat she may dote upon Eneas' love. 

And by that means repair his broken ships. 

Victual his soldiers, give him wealthy gifts. 

And he, at laQt, depart to Italy, 

Or else in Carthage make his kingly throne. 

i)up, I wiU, fair mother, Mid so play my part 
As every touch shall wound Queen Dido's heart 

Ven, Sleep, my sweet nephew, in these cooling shades, 
free from the murmur of these running stream 
The cry of beasts, the rattling of the winds. 
Or whisking of these leaves ; all shall be still, 
.And nothing interrupt thy quiet sleep. 
Till I return and take thee hence again. \exeunt. 



ACT III. SCENE I. 

Enter Cupid. 

Cup, Now, Cupid, cause the Carthaginian queen 
To be enamour'd of thy brother's looks. 
Convey this golden arrow in thy sleeve. 
Lest she imagine thou art Venus' son ; 
And when she strokes thee softly on the head. 
Then shall I touch her breast and conquer her. 

Enter Iarbas, Anna, and Dido. 

lar. How long, fair Dido> shall I pine for thee ? 
Tis not enough that thou dost grant me love. 



24 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

But that I may enjoy what I desire : 

That love is xihildish which consists in words. 

Dido. larbas, know, that thou, of all my wooers^ 
And yet have I had many mightier kings. 
Hast had the greatest favours I could give. 
I fear me. Dido hath been counted light. 
In being too familiar with larbas ; 
Albeit the gods do know, no wanton thought 
Had ever residence in Dido's breast. 

lar. But Dido is the favour I request. 

Dido. Fear not, larbas,, Dido may be thine. 

Anna. Look, sister, how iEneas' little son 
Plays with your garments and embraceth you. 

Cup. No, Dido will not take me in her arms. 
I shall not be her son, she loves me not. 

Dido. Weep not, sweet boy, thou shalt be Dido's son ; 
Sit in my lap, and let me hear thee sing. [Cupid tingi. ^^ 
No more, my child, now talk another while. 
And teU me where leam'st thou this pretty song. 

Cup. My cousin Helen taught it me in Troy. 

Dido. How lovely is Ascanius when he smiles I 

Cup. Will Dido ]et me hang about her neck ? 

Dido, Aye, wag, and give thee leave to kiss her too. 

Cup. What will you give me ? Now, PU have this fan* 

Dido. Take it, Ascanius, for thy father's sake. 

lar. Come, Dido, leave Ascanius, let us walk. 

Dido. Go thou away, Ascanius shall stay. 

lar. Ungentle queen ! is this thy love to me ? 

Dido. O stay, larbas, and Til go with thee. 

Cup. And if my mother go, VVL follow her. 



■> ■» 



*- L. -f €. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 25 

Dido. Why stay's t thou here ? thou art no love of mine I 

far. larbas, die, seeing she abandons thee. ^ 

/Mdo. No ; live larbas : what hast thou deseiVd^ 
""^Ir^hat I should say thou art no love of mine ? 
Something thou hast deserv'd. Away, I say; 
XDepart from Carthage— come not in my sight. 

far. Am I not king of rich Getulia ? 

ZHdo: larbas^ pardon me, and stay awhile. 

Cup. Mother, look here. 

Dido. What tell'st thou me of rich Getulia ? 
-Am not I queen of Lybia? then depart. 

far. I go to feed the humour of my love, 
"Vet not from Carthage for a thousand worlds. 

Dido. larbas! 

far. Doth Dido call me back ? 

Dido. No; but J charge thee never look on me. 

fan Then pull out both mine eyes, or let me die. 

[^eaii larbas 

Anna. Wherefore doth Dido bid larbas go ? 

Dido, Because his loathsome sight offends mine eye. 
And in my thoughts is shrined another Jove. 
O Anna ! didst thou know how sweet love were. 
Fall soon would'st thou abjure this single life. 

Anna. Poor soul I I know too weU the power of love. , 
that larbas could but fancy me ! 

Dido. Is not iEneas fair and beautiful ? 

Anna. Yes, and larbas foul and favourless. 

Dido. Is he not eloquent in all his speech ? 

Anna. Yes, and larbas rude and rustical 

Dido. Name not larbas ; but, sweet Anna, say. 



26 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Is not MneaB worthy Dido's love? 

j4nna, O sister I were you empress of the world, 
iEneas well desenres to be your love. 
So lovely is he, that, where'er he goes. 
The people swarm to gaze him in the face. 

Dido. But tell them, none shaU gaze on him* but I, 
Lest their gross eye-beams taint my lover's cheeks. 
Anna, good sister Anna, go for him. 
Lest with these sweet thoughts I melt clean away. 

j4nna. Then, sister, you'll abjure larbas'love? . 

Dieto. Yet must I hear that loathsome name again ? 
Run foriEneas, or I'll fly to him. [emiAnna, 

Cup. You shall not hurt my father when he comes. 

Dido. No, for thy sake, I'll love thy father well. 
dull-conceited Dido ! that tiU now 
Didst never think iEneas beautiful 1 
But now, for quittance of this oversight, 
I'll make me bracelets of his golden hair ; 
His glist'ring eyes shall be my looking-glass. 
His lips an altar, where I'll offer up 
As many kisses as the sea hath sands. 
Instead of music I will hear him speak, — 
His looks shall be my only library, — 
And thou, iEneas, Dido's treasury, 
Tn whose fair bosom I will lock more wealth 
Than twenty thousand Indias can afford. 
O here he comes : Love, love, give Dido leave 
To be more modest than her thoughts admit. 
Lest I be made a wonder to the world. 



DIDO, QtJEEN OF CARTHAGE. 27 

^^er iENEAS, Achates, Sbrgestus, Ilioneus, and Cloanthus. 

"Achates, how doth Carthage please your lord ? 

Acha, That will iEneas shew your majesty. 

Dido. iEneas, art thou there? 

JSn. I understand your highness sent for me. 

Dido. No ; but now thou art here^ tell me in sooth 
In what might Dido highly pleasure thee. 

jEn. So much have I received at Dido's hands. 
As, without blushing, I can ask no more.: 
Yet, queen of Afric, are my ships unrigged. 
My sails all rent in sunder with the wind, 
My oars broken, and my tackling lost. 
Yea, all my navy split with rocks and shelves ; 
Nor stem nor anchor have our maimed fleet ; 
Our masts the furious winds struck overboard : 
Which piteous wants if Dido will supply. 
We will account her author of our lives. 

Dido, ifineas, Pll repair thy Trojan ships, 
ConditionaUy that thou wilt stay with me. 
And let Achates siul to Italy : 
I'll give thee tackling made of riveld gold. 
Wound on the barks of odoriferous trees. 
Oars of massy ivory, full of holes. 
Through which the water shall delight to play ; 
Thy anchors shall be hew'd from crystal rocks. 
Which, if thou lose, shall shine above the waves ; 
The masts, whereon thy swelling sails shaU hang. 
Hollow pyramids of silver plate ; 
The sails of folded lawn, where shall be wrought 
The wars of Troy, but not Troy's overthrow ; 



28 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

For ballast, empty Dido's treasury : 
Take what ye will, but leave iEneas here. 
Achates, thou shalt be so meanly clad. 
As sea-born nymphs shall swarm about thy ships. 
And wanton mermaids court thee with sweet songs. 
Flinging in favours of more sovereign worth 
Than Thetis hangs about Apollo's neck. 
So that iEneas may but stay with me. 
^n. Wherefore would Dido have iEneas stay ? 
Dido. To war against my bordering enemies, 
^neas, think not Dido is in love; 
For if that any man could conquer me, 
I had been wedded ere iEneas came : 
See where the pictures of my suitors hang ; 
And are not these as fair as fair may be ? 
Acha. I saw this man at Troy, ere Troy was sack'd. 
uEn, I this in Greece, when Paris stole fair Helen. 
nio. This man and I were at Olympus' games. 
Serg, I know this face ; he is a Persian bom : 
I traveird udth him to iEtolia. 

Cloan. And I in Athens, mth this gentleman. 
Unless I be deceivM, disputed once. 
Dido. But speak, iEneas ; know you none of these ? 
^n. No, madam ; but it seems that these are kings. 
Dido. All these, and others which I never saw. 
Have been most urgent suitors for my love; 
Some came in person, others sent their legates. 
Yet none obtained me : I am free from all ; 
And yet, God knows, entangled unto one. 
This was an orator, and thought, by words. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 29 

t*o compass me ; but yet he was deceiv'd : 
Vnd this a Spartan courtier, yain and wild ; 
3ut liis fantastic humours pleas'd not me : 
Hus was Aldon, a muacian ; 
But, play'd he ne*er so sweet, I let him go : 
Xliis was the wealthy king of Thessaly; 
fiat I had gold enough, and cast him off: 
This, Meleager's son, a warlike prince ; 
Sut weapons 'gree not with my tender years : 
The rest are such as all the world well knows ; 
Yet here I swear, by heaven and him I love, 

I was as far from love as ^hey from hate. 
jEn. O happy shall he be whom Dido loves ! 
Ditlo, Then never say that thou art miserable : 

Because, it may be, thou shalt be my love : 

Yet boast not of it, for I love thee not. 

And yet I hate thee not Oh, if I speak 

I shall betray myself: JSneas, speak; 

We two will go a hunting in the woods ; 

But not so much for thee, — ^thou art but one,— ^ 

As for Achates, and his followers. [e:teunt. 

SCENE n. 

Enter Juno to Ascanius, tuleep. 

Juno. Here lies my hate, iEneas* cursed brat. 
The boy wherein false destiny delights. 
The heir of Fury, the favourite of the Fates, 
That ugly imp that shall outwear my wrath, 
And wrong my deity with high disgrace : 
But I will take another order now. 



30 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

And raze th' eternal register of time. 
Troy shaU no more call him her seoond hope^ 
Nor Venus triumph in his tender, youth ; 
For here, in spite of heav'n, I'll murder him. 
And feed infection with his let-out life : 
Say, Paris, now shall Venus have the ball ? 
Say, vengeance, now shall her Ascanius die ? 
O no, God wot, I cannot watch my time. 
Nor quit good turns with double fee down told. 
Tut ! I am simple without might to hurt. 
And have no gall at all to grieve my foes ; 
But lustful Jove, and his adulterous child. 
Shall find it written on confusion's front. 
That only Juno rules in Rhamnus town. 

Enter Venus. 

Fen, What should this mean? my doves are bac 
returned. 
Who warn me of such danger prest at hand. 
To harm my sweet Ascanius' lovely life. 
Juno, my mortal foe, what make you here ? 
Avaunt, old witch I and trouble not my wits. 

Juno, Fie, Venus ! that such causeless words of wratli^ 
Should e'er defile so fur a mouth as thine. 
Are not we both sprung of celestial race. 
And banquet, as two sisters, with the gods ? 
Why is it, then, displeasure should disjoin. 
Whom kindred and acquaintance co-unites ? 

Fen. Out, hateful hag! thou would'st have slain 1x^3^ 
son, 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 31 

not my doves discovered thy intent; 
I will tear thy eyes from forth thy head, 
A.]:i.<l feast the birds with their Uood-shotten balls, 
thou but lay thy fingers on my boy ! 
mJuno, Is this, then, all the thanks that I shall have, 
saving him from snakes and serpents* stings, 
X'li.iit would have killed him, sleeping, as he lay ? 
^^^liat, though I was offended with thy son, 
AkXi.d wrought him mickle woe on sea and land, 
^^^en, for the hate of Trojan Ganymede, 
T'H.at was advanced by my Hebe's shame, 
A^r^d Paris' judgment of the heavenly ball, 
^ xiQuster'd all the winds unto his wreck, 
-^-^^d urg'd each element to his annoy : 
^^t now I do repent me of his ruth, 
-^-i^d wish that I had never wrong'd him so. • 
bootless, I saw, it was to war with fate, 
*^hat hath so many unresisted friends ; 
'therefore I change my counsel with the lime, 
^^d planted love where envy erst had sprung. 

^(?». ^ster of Jove ! if that thy love be such 
^^ these thy protestations do paiut forth, 
^^e two, as friends, one fortune will divide : 
^Upid shall lay his arrows in thy It^, 
^^d, to a sceptre, change his golden shaftp ; 
'*^iicy and modesty shall live as mates ; 
^^d thy fair peacocks by my pigeons perch : 
^-•ove my iEneas, and desire is thine j 
**^e day, the night, my swans, my sweets, are thine. 
^uno. More than melodious are these words to me. 



32 DIDO» QUEEN OF CARTHAGE* 

That overcloy my soul with their content : 
Venus, sweet Venus ! how may I deserve 
Such amorous favours at thy beauteous hand ? 
But, that thou may'st more easily perceive 
How highly I do prize this amity. 
Hark to a motion of eternal league. 
Which I will make in quittance of thy love. 
Thy son, thou know'st, with Dido now remains. 
And feeds his eyes with favours of her court f 
She, likewise, in admiring spends her time. 
And cannot talk, nor think, of aught but him : 
Why should not they then join in marriage. 
And bring forth mighty kings to Carthage town. 
Whom casualty of sea hath made such friends ? 
And, Venus, let there be a match confirmed 
Betwixt these two, whose loves are so alike ; 
And both our deities, conjoined in one, • .' ' 

Shall chain felicity unto their throne. 

P^en. Well could I like this reconcilement's means; 
But, much I fear, my son will ne'er consent ; 
Whose armed soul, already on the sea. 
Darts forth her light to Lavinia's shore. 

Juno. Fair queen of love ! I will divorce these doubts, 
And find the way to weary such fond thoughts. 
This day they both a hunting forth will ride 
Into these woods, adjoining to these walls ; 
When, in the midst of all their gamesome sports, 
PU make the clouds dissolve their wat'ry works. 
And drench Silvanus' dwellings with their showers ; 
Then, in one cave, the queen and' he shall meet. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 33 

Ven. Sister, I see you savour of my wiles : 
it as you will haye it for this once. 
M^an time, Ascanius shall be my charge ; 
'^hom I will bear to Ida in mine arms, 
And couch him in Adonis' purple down. [ejpeunt. 

SCENE III. 
StUer Dido, i£NEAS, Anna, Iarbas, Achates, and FoUowera, 

^ido, iEneas, think not but I honour thee, 
* hat thus in person go with thee to hunt : 
^y princely robes, thou see'st, are laid aside, 
^^ose glittering pomp Diana's shroud supplies. 
^^ fellows now, disposed alike to sport ; 
**^e woods are wide, and we have store of game. 
'air Trojan, hold my golden bow awhile, 
'^^ttl I gird my quiver to my side ; i > 

I^ordg^ go^fore ; we two must talk alone. 

^<ir. Ungentle ! can she wrong Iarbas so? 

* *1 die before a stranger have that grace. 

^c two will talk alone ;«— what words be these ? 

iHdo, What makes Iarl>a8 here of all the rest ? 
^e would have gone without ypur company. 

^. But love and duty led him on perhaps, 

* o pregg beyond acceptance to your sight. 

Jar, Why, man of Troy, do I offend thine eyes ? 
^^ art thou griev'd thy betters press so nigh ? 

I>ido. How now, Gsetulian ! are ye grown so brave, 
*^o <?ha]lenge us with your comparisons ? 
"casant ! go seek companions like thyself, 
And meddle not with any that I love : 



34 DIDO, QUElEN OF CARTHAGB. " 

Mneas, be not mov'd at what he says ; 
For, otherwhile, he \vill be out of joint. 

lar. Women may wrong, by privilege of love ; 
But, should that man of men. Dido except. 
Have taunted me in these opprobrious terms, 
I would have either drunk his dying blood, 
Or else I would have given my life in gage. 

Dido. Huntsmen, why pitch you not your toils apace. 
And rouse the light-foot deer from forth their kdr? 

AnfM. Sister, see ! see Ascanius in his pomp. 
Bearing Jiis hunt-spear bravely in his hand. 

Dido. Yea, little son, are you so forward now ? 

Asc. Aye, mother ; I shaU one day be a man. 
And better able unto other arms ; 
Mean time, these wanton weapons serve my war. 
Which I will break betwixt a lion's, jaws. 

Dido. What ! dar'st thou look a lion in the face ? 

Asc. Aye, and outface him too, do what he can. 

Anna. How like his father speaketh he in all. 

^n. And might I live to see him sack rich Thebes, 
And load his spear with Grecian princes' heads. 
Then would I wish me with A'nchises' tomb. 
And dead to honour that hath brought me up. 

far. And might I live to see thee shipp'd away. 
And hoist aloft on Neptune's hideous hills^ 
Then would I wish me in fair Dido's arms. 
And dead to scorn that h^th pursued me so. 

^n. Stout friend Achates, do'st thou know this wood? 

Acha. As I remember, here you shot the deer 
That sav'd your famish'd soldiers' lives from death. 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 36 

When first you set your foot upon the shore ; 

And here we met fair Venus, vir^n like. 

Bearing her bow and quiver at her back. 
JEn. O how these irksome labours now delight 

And overjoy my thoughts with their escape ! 

Who would not undergo all kind of toil. 

To be well stor'd with such a winter's tale ? 
Dido. iEneas, leave these dumps, and let*s away. 

Some to the mountains, some unto the soil. 

You to the vallies, thou unto the house. 

\_eafeunt ail but larbas. 
far. Aye, this it is which wounds me to the death. 

To see a Phrygian^ far set to the sea, 

Prefer'd before a man of majesty. 

love ! O hate ! O cruel women's hearts. 

That imitate the« moon in every change ! 

And, like the planets, ever love to range : 

What shall I do,, thus wronged with disdain,. 

Revenge me on iEneas, or on her ? 

On her ? fond man ! that were to war 'gainst heaven, 
And with one shaft provoke ten thousand darts : 
This Trojan's end will be thy envy's aim. 
Whose blood will reconcile thee to content. 
And make love drunken with thy sweet desire ; 
Hut Dido, that now holdeth him so dear. 
Will die with very tidings of his death : 
3ut time mil discontinue her content. 
And mould her mind unto new fancies* shapes. 
O, God of heaven ! turn the hand of fate 

Unto that happy day of my delight ; 



36 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

And tbeu, — what then ? — ^larbas shall but love ; 
So doth he now, though not with equal gain. 
That resteth in the rival of thy pain. 
Who ne*er will cease to soar till he be slain. 

SCENE IV. 

A Storm. — Enter ^Eneas and Dido in the cave, at several timet. 

Dido, iEneas! 

jEn. Dido 1 

Dido, Tell me, dear love 1 how found you out this 
cave ? 

JSn, By chance, sweet queen ! as Mars and Venus met. 

Dido, Why, that was in a net, here we are loose ; 
And yet, I am not free ; oh, would I were ! 

jEn. Why, what is that Dido may desire, 
And not obtain, be it in human power ? 

Dido, The thing that I will die before I ask, 
And yet desire to have before I die. 

JSn, It is not aught iEneas may achieve ? 

Dido, Mneas, no ; although his eyes do pierce. 

JSn, ^^llat, hath larbas angePd her in aught ? 
And will she be avenged on his life ? 

Dido, Not angerM me, except in ang'ring thee. 

jEn, Who then, of aU so cruel, may he be. 
That should detidn thine eye in his defects ? 

Dido. The man that I do eye wheie*er I am; 
Whose amorous face, like Paean's, sparicles fire. 
When as he butts his beams on Flora's bed. 
Prometheus hath put on Cupid's shape. 
And I must perish in his burning arms : 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. . 3? 

ifineas, O JSneas ! quench these flames. 
jSn, What ails my queen ? Is she fall'n sick of Iftte ? 
Dido. Not sick, my love, but sick : I must conceal 
The torment that it boots me not reveal ; 
And yet I'll speak, and yet FU hold my peace : 
Do shame her worst, I will disclose my grief: 
^neas, thou art he ! what did I say ? ' 
Something it was that now I have forgot. 
jEn. What means fair Dido by this doubtful speech ? 
Dido, Nay, nothing, but iEneas loves me not. 
jEn. iEneas' thoughts dare not ascend so high 
As Dido's heart, which moharchs. might not scale. 

Dido, It was because I saw no king like thee. 
Whose golden crown might ba}ance my content ; 
But now, that I have found what to affect, 
I follow one that loveth fame for me. 
And rather had seen fair Sirens' eyes. 
Than to the Carthage queen, that dies for him. 

^n. If that your majesty can look so low 
As my despised worths, that shun all praise, 
V^th this my hand I give to you my heart. 
And vow, by all the gods of hospitality. 
By heaven and earth, and my fair brother's bow. 
By Paphos, Capys, and the purple sea. 
From whence my radiant mother did descend. 
And by this sword, that saved me from the Greeks, 
Nev^r to leave these new upreared walls. 
While Dido lives and rules in Juno's town,— 
Never to like or love any but her. 
Dido. What more than Delian music do I hear, 



3S DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

That calls my soul from forth his livmg seat 
To move unto the measures of delight ? 
Kind clouds that sent forth such a courteous storm » 
As made disdain to fly to fancy's lap : 
Stout love, in mirie arms make thy Italy, 
Whose crown and kingdom rest at thy command ; 
Sichseus, not iEneas, 1)e thou call'd ; 
The King of Carthage, not Anchises' son. 
Hold ; take these jewels at thy lover's hand. 
These golden bracelets, and this wedding ring. 
Wherewith my husband woo'd me yet a maid. 
And be thou king of Lybia by my gift. 

[exeunt to the cave. 



ACT IV. SCENE I. 

Enter Achates, Cupid as AscantuSy Iarbas, and Anna. 

Acha, Did ever men see such a sudden storm ? 
Or day so clear, so suddenly o'ercast ? 

far. I think, some fell enchantress dwelleth here. 
That can call them forth when as she please. 
And dive into black tempests' treasury. 
When as she means to mask the world with clouds 

Anna, In all my life I never knew the like ; 
It hail'd, it snow'd, it lightened, all at once. 

Acha. I think, it was the devil's reveling night. 
There was such hurly-burly in the heavens : 
r Doubtless, Apollo's axle-tree is crack'd. 
Or aged Atlas' shoulder out of joint. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. ^ 39 

^he motion was so over violent. 

far. In all this coil> where have ye left the queen ? 

Atca. Nay, where's my warlike father, can you tell ? 

Anna, Behold, where both of them come forth the cave. 

lar, Dome forth the cave! can heaven endure the 
sight ? 
[«rba8, curse that unrevenging J[ove, 
i^^ose flinty darts slept in Tlphoeus' den, 
k^^hile these adult'rers surfeited with sin : 
Nature, why mad'st me not some pois'nous beast, 
E^at, with the sharpness of my edged sting, 
^ might have staked them both unto the earth, 
^^^tost they were sporting in this darksome cave ? 

Enter ^Eneas and Dido 

'^n. The air is clear, and southern winds are whist ; 
^<Uiie^ Dido, let us hasten to the town, 

• 

'cice gloomy iBolus doth cease to frown. 
Z^ido. Achates and Ascanius, well met. 
-^Sn. Fair Anna! how escap'd you from the shower? 
■^nna. As others did, — by running to the wood. 
XHdo. But where were you, larbas, all this while ? 
•far. Not with ifineas in the ugly cave. 
X>ido, I see, ifineas sticketh in your mind; 
txt I will soon put by that stumbling block, 
xi.d quell those hopes that thus em*ploy your cares. 

[exeunt, 

SCENE II. 

Enter Iarbas, to sacrifice. 
Jar. Come, servants, come ; bring forth the sacrifice. 



40 DiDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

That I may pacify that gloomy Jove, 

Whose empty altars have enlarged our ills. 

Eternal Jove ! great master of the clouds ! 

Father of gladness^ and all frolic thoughts ! 

That with thy gloomy hand corrects the heaven, 

AVhen airy creatures war amongst themselves ; 

Hear, hear, O hear ! larbas' plaining prayers. 

Whose hideous echoes make the welkin howl. 

And all the woods Eliza to resound : 

The woman that thou wilFd us entertain. 

Where, straying in our borders up and down. 

She crav'd a hide of ground to build a town. 

With whom we did divide both laws and land. 

And all the fruits that plenty else sends forth. 

Scorning our loves and royal Marriage ri1;es. 

Yields up her beauty to a stranger's bed ; 

Wlio, having wrought her shame, is straight-way fled : 

Now, if thou be*st a pitying god of power. 

On whom ruth and compassion ever waits. 

Redress these wrongs, and warn him to his ships. 

That now afflicts me with his flattering eyes. 

Enter Anna. 

Anna, How now, larbas ; at your prayers so hard ? 

lar. Aye, Anna : is there aught you would with me ? 

Anna, Nay, no such weighty business of import. 
But may be slack'd until another time j 
Yet, if you would partake with me the cause 
Of this devotion that detaineth you, 
I would be thankful for such courtesy. 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 41 

lar. Anna^ against this Trojan do I pray. 
Who seeks to rob me of thy sister's love. 
And dive into her heart by coloured looks. 

Anna, Alas, poor king I that labours so in vain. 
For her that so delighteth in thy pain : 
Be rul'd by me, and seek some other love. 
Whose yielding heart may yield thee more relief. 

lar. Mine eye is iix'd where fancy cannot start : 
leave me ! leave me to my silent thoughts. 
That register the niunber of my ruth, ^ 

And I will either move the- thoughtless flint. 
Or drop out both mine eyes in drizzling tears. 
Before my sorrow's tide has any stint. 

Anna, I will not leave larbas, whom I love, , 

In this delight of dying pensiveness ; 
Away with Dido ; Anna be thy song ; 
Anna, that doth admire thee more than heaven. 

lar. I may, nor will, list to such loathsome change. 
That intercepts the course of my desire : 
Servants, come, fetch these empty vessels here ; 
For I will fly from these alluring eyes. 
That do pursue my peace where'er it goes. \ex%t 

Anna. larbas, stay ; loving larbas, stay. 
For I have honey to present thee with. 
Hard-hearted ! wilt not deign* to hear me speak ? 
Ill follow thee with outcries nevertheless. 
And strew thy walks with my dishevell'd hair. \emt. 



42 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE, 

SCENE m. 

Enter ^Eneas. 

yEn, Carthage, my friendly host, adieu ! 
Since destiny doth call me from thy shore : 
Hermes this night, descending in a dream. 
Hath summon'd me to fruitful Italy ; 
Jove wills it so, — my mother wills it so : 
Let my Phaenissa grant, and then I go. 
Grant she or no, iEneas must away ; 
Whose goldeft fortune, clogg'd with courtly e^se. 
Cannot ascend to fame's immortal house. 
Or banquet in bright honour's bumish'd hall, 
Till he hath furrow'd Neptune's glassy fields. 
And cut a passage through his topless hills. 
Achates, come forth ; Sergestus, Ilioneus, 
Cloanthus, haste away ; iEneas calls. 

Enter Achates, Cloanthus, Sergestus, and Ilioneus. 

j4cha. What wills our lord, or wherefore did he call? 

JSn. The dream, brave mates, that did beset my bed. 
When sleep but newly had embrac'd the night. 
Commands me leave these unrenowned beams. 
Whereas nobility abhors to stay. 
And none l)ut base iEneas will abide. 
Aboard ! aboard ! since fates do bid aboard. 
And slice the sea with sable-colour'd ships. 
On whom the nimble winds may all day wait. 
And follow them, as footmen, through the deep ; 



DIDO, QUfiEN OP CARTHAGE. 43 

Yet Dido casts her eyes, like anchors, out, 
To stay my fleet from loosing forth the bay ; 
' Come back, come back,' I hear her cry a-far, 
' And let me link my body to thy lips. 
That, tied together by the striving tongues. 
We may, as one, sail into Italy/ 

Acha. Banish that 'ticing dame from forth your mouth. 
And follow your fore-seeing star in all : 
Tnis is no life for men at arms to live. 
Where dalliance doth consume a soldier's strength. 
And wanton motions of alluring eyes 
.Effeminate our minds, inur'd to war. 

Ilio. Why, let us build a city of our own. 
And not stand lingering here for am'rous looks. 
Will Dido raise old Priam forth his grave. 
And build the town again the Greeks did burn ? 
No, no ; she cares not how we sink or swim. 
So she may have ^Eneas in her arms. 

Clo. To Italy, sweet friends ! to Italy ! 
We will not stay a minute longer here. 

JEr». Trojans, aboard, and I will follow you : 
I fun would go, yet beauty calls me back : 
To leave her so, and not once say, farewell 1 
tVere to transgress against all laws of love : 
But> if I use such ceremonious thanks 
\8 parting friends accustom on the shore, 
Her silver arms will coil me round about. 
And tears of pearl cry, * stay, iEneas, stay 5' 
Bach word she says mil then contain a crown, 
And*every speech be ended with a kiss : 



44 .DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

I may not dure this female drudgery ; 

To sea, iEneas, find out Italy. \em(iun% 

SCENE IV. 

. Enter Dido and Anna. 

Dido. O, Anna, run unto the water-side ; 
They say iEneas' men are going a-board ; 
It may be he will steal away with them : 
Stay not to answer me ; run, Anna, run. 
O, foolish Trojans, that would steal from hence. 
And not let Dido understand their drift : 
I would have given Achates store of gold, 
Ajid Ilioneus gum and Lybian spice ; 
The common soldiers rich embroidered coats. 
And silver whistles to controul the winds, 
\^Tiich Circe sent Sichaeus when he liv*d : 
Unworthy are they of a queen's reward. 
See, where they come, how might I do to chide ? 

Enter Anna, with i£NEAS, Achates, Ilioneus, and Sekgestu 

Anna. Twas time to run, iSiieas had been gone ; 
The sails were hoisting up, and he aboard. 

Dido, Is this thy love to me ? 

^n. O, princely Dido, give me leave to speak ; 
I went to take my farewell of Achates. 

Dido. How haps Achates bid me not farewell ? 

Acha. Because I fear'd your grace would keep me b 

Dido. To rid thee of that doubt, aboard again ; 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 45 

I charge thee put to sea« and stay not here. 
Acha. Then let iEneas go aboard with us. 
Dido. Get you aboard^ iEneas means to stay. 
J^n. The sea is rough, the wind blows to the shore. 
Dido, O, false iEneas, now the sea is rough, 
But when you were aboard 'twas calm enough ; 
Thou and Achates meant to sail away. 

J^ft. Hath not the Carthage queen mine only son ? 
Thinks Dido I will go and leave him here ? 

Dido, iSneas, pard6n me, for I forgot 
That young Ascanius lay with me this night ; 
Love made me jealous ; but, to make amends, 
Wear the imperial crown of Lybia, 
Sway thou the Punick sceptre in my stead. 
And punish me, .^neas, for this crime. 
^n. This kiss shall be fair Dido's punishment. 
Dido. O, how a crown becomes iEneas' head ! 
Stay here, iEneas, and command as king. 

^n. How vain am I to wear this diadem. 
And bear this golden sceptre in my hand ! 
^Aside.'] A burgonet of steel, and not a crown, 
A sword, and not a sceptre, fits iSneas. 

Dido. O, keep them still, and let me gaze my fill : [^ 
Now looks iEneas like immortal Jove ; 
0> where, is Ganymede, to hold his cup. 
And Mercury, to fly for what he calls ? 
Ten thousand Cupids hover in the air. 
And fan it in iEneas' lovely face : 
O, that the clouds were here wherein thou fleest. 
That thou and I unseen might sport ourselves ; 



46 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Heaven, envious of our joys, is waxen pale ; 
And when we whisper, then the stars fall down. 
To be partakers of our honey talk. 

^n. O, Dido, patroness of all our lives, 
When I leave thee, death be my punishment ; 
Swell, raging seas ! frown, wayward destinies I 
Blow, mnds ! threaten, ye rocks and sandy shelves ! 
This is the harbour that iSneas seeks. 
Let's see what tempests can annoy me now. 

Dido, Not all the world can take thee from mine arms ^^ 
iEneas may command as many Moors, 
As in the sea are little water-drops. 
And now, to make experience of my love. 
Fair sister Anna, lead my lover forth^ 
And, seated on my gennet, let him ride 
As Dido's husband through the Punic streets ; 
And will my guard, with Mauritanian darts. 
To wait upon him as their sovereign lord. 

Anna. What if the citizens repine thereat I 
- Dido. Those that dislike what Dido gives in charge. 
Command my guard to slay for their offence. 
Shall vulgar peasants storm at what I do ? 
The ground is mine that gives them sustenance. 
The air wherein they breathe, the water, fire. 
All that they have, their lands, their goods, thdr lives. 
And I, the goddess of all these, command V' . 

iEneas ride as Carthaginian king. 

Acha. i^neas, for his parentage, deserves 
As large a kingdom as is Lybia. 

JE7i>. Aye, and unless the destinies be false. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 47 

I shall be planted in as rich a land. 

Dido. Speak of no other land ; this land is thine, 

Dido is thine, henceforth I'll csdl thee lord : 

Do as I bid thee, sister ; lead the way. 

And from a turret Pll behold my love. 
JSn* Then here in me shall flourish Priam's race. 

And thou and I, Achates, for revenge. 

For Troy, for Priam, for his fifty sons. 

Our Idnsmen's loves and thousand guiltless souls, 

WHL lead a host against the hateful Greeks, 

And fire proud Lacedemon o'er their heads. [^ea^it. 

Dido. Speaks not iEneas like a conqueror ? 

0, blessed tempests that did drive him in, 

O, happy sand that made him run aground ; 

Henceforth you shall be our Carthage gods. 

Aye, but it may be he will leave my love. 

And seek a foreign land, call'd Italy ; 

O, that I had a charm to keep the winds 

Within the closure of a golden ball ; 

Or that the Tyrrhene sea were in mine arms. 

That he might suffer shipwreck on my breast. 

As 6ft as he attempts to hoist up sail : 

I must prevent him, wishing will not serve ; 

Go, bid my nurse take young Ascanius, 

And bear him in the country to her house, 

^n^as will not go without his son ; 

Yet, lest he should, for I am full of fear, 
^ling me his oars, his tackling, and his sails. 

What if I sink his ships ? O, he will frown : 

Better he frown, \han I should die for grief. 



48 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAOE. 

I cannot see him frown, it may not be ; 

Armies of foes resolv'd to win this town. 

Or impious traitors voVd to have my life. 

Affright me not, only iEneas' frown 

Is that which terrifies poor Dido's heart $ 

Not bloody spears appearing in the air. 

Presage the downfall of my empery. 

Nor blazing comets threaten Dido's death ; 

It is iEneas' frown that ends my days : 

If he forsake me not, I never die ; 

For in his looks I 9te eternity. 

And hell make me immortal with a kiss. . 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Your nurse is gone with young Ascanius ; 
And here's iEneas' tackling, oars, and sails. 

Dido. Are these the sails that, in despi^ of me, 
Pack'd with the winds to bear iEneas hence ? 
I'll hang ye in the chamber where I lie ; 
Drive if you can my house to Italy : 
I'll set the casement open, that the winds 
May enter in, and once again conspire 
Against the life of me, poor Carthage queen ; 
But though he go, he stays in Carthage still. 
And let rich Carthage float upon the seas. 
So I may have iEneas in mine arms. 
Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plains. 
And would be toiling in the wat'ry billows. 
To rob their mistress of her Trojan guest ? 
O, cursed tree, had'st thou but wit or sense. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 49 

leasure how I prize iEneas' love, 
I would^st have leaped from out the sailor's hands, 
told me that iEneas meant to go : 
yet I blame thee not» thou art but wood, 
water, which our poets term a nymph, 
' did it suffer thee to touch her breast, 
shrunk not back, knowing my love was there ? 
water is an element, no nymph. 
' should I blame iEneas for his flight ? 
ddo, blame not him, but break his oars ; 
e were the instruments that launch'd^im forth ; 
'e^s not so much as this base tackling too, 
iares to heap up sorrow to n^ heart, 
it not you that hoisted up these sails ? ' 
^ biirst you not, and they fell in the seas ? 
this will Dido tie ye full of knots, 
shear ye all asunder with her hands ; 
' serve to chastise shipboys for their foults, 
hall no more offend the Carthage queen, 
r, let him hang iny favours on his masts, 
see if those will serve instead of sails ; 
tackling, let him take the chains of gold, 
ch I bestowed upon his followers; 
isA of oars, let him use his hands, 
swim to Italy, HI keep these sure t 
e, bear them in. [eaeuni^ 

SCENE V. 

Enter the Nurse with Cupid, as Ascanius, 
urse. My lord Ascanius, ye must go with me. 

E 



50 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE.^ 

Cup. Whither must I go ? Ill stay with my mother. 

Nurse. No, thou shalt go with me unto my house. 
I have an orchard that hath store of plums. 
Brown almonds, servises, ripe figs^ and dates. 
Dewberries, apples, yellow oranges $ 
A garden where are bee-hives full of hoaey^ 
Musk-roses, and a thousand sorts of flowers ; 
And in the midst doth run a silver stream. 
Where thou shalt see the red-gilPd fishes leap» 
White swans, and many lovely water-fowls ; 
Now speak, Ascanius, will ye go or no ? 

Cup. Gome, come. 111 go ; how far hence is ymir house 

Nurse. But hereby, child, we shall get thither straight. 

Cup. Nurse, I am weary, will you carry me I 

Nurse. Aye, so youll dwell with me, and call me mothei 

Cup. So you'll love me, I care not if I do. 

Nurse. That I might live to see this boy a man I 
How prettily he laughs. Go, ye wag. 
You'll be a twigger when you come to a^. 
Say Dido what she will, I am not old; 
Pll be no more a widow, I am young, 
I'll have a husband, or else a lover. 

Cup. A husband and no teeth ! 

Nurse. O, what mean I to have such foolish thoughts i 
Foolish is love, a toy. O, sacredl iove ! 
If there be any heaven in earth, 'tis love. 
Especially in wcmien of your years. 

Blush, blush for shame, why should'st thou think of \o^^"^^ 
A grave, and not a lover, fits thy age ; 
A grave ! why \ I may live a hufidred years. 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE. 51 

Fourscore is but a girPs age. Love is sweet : 
IVIy veins are withered, and my sinews dry ; 
^Vliy do I think of love now I should die ? 

Cup, Come, nurse. 

Nurse. Well, if he come a wooing he shall speed ; 
CI>, how, unwise was I to say him nay ! {eofeunt. 



ACT V. SCENE I. 



•^nter ^Eneas, with a paper in his hand, drawing the platform of 
the city :^with him Achates, Cloanthus, arid Ilioneus. 

^n. Triumph, my mates ! our travels are at end : 
Here will iEneas build a statelier Troy, 
Than that which grim Atrides overt Jirew. 
Carthage shall vaunt her petty walls no more. 
For I will grace them with a fairer frame. 
And clothe her in a crystal livery. 
Wherein the day may evermore delight ; 
From golden India, Ganges will I fetch, 
Whose wealthy streams may wait upon her towers. 
And triple-wise intrench her round about ; ^ 
The sun from Egypt shall rich odours bring, 
Wherewith his burning beams, like laboring bees, 
That load their thighs with Hybla's honey-spoils. 
Shall here unburden their exhaled sweets, 
Aad plant our pleasant suburbs with her fumes. 



\ 



^2 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

j4cka. What length or breadth shall this brave towr — =^ 

contain? 
jEn, Not past four thousand paces at the most. 
liio. But what shall it be callM ? Troy, as before ? 
^n. That have I not determined with myself. 
do. Let it be termM jEnea, by your name. 
Ser^. Rather j4icania, by your little son. 
^n, Nay« I will have it called Anohis€Bon, 
Of my old father's name. 

Enier Hermes wUfi Ascanius. 

Her, iEneas, stay ! Jove's herald bids thee stay. 

^n. Whom do I see, Jove*s win^jfed messenger t 
Welcome to Cartha^ new-erected town. 

Her. Why, cousin, stand you building cities here. 
And beautifying the empire of this queen^ 
While Italy is clean out of thy mind ? 
Too, too forgetful of thine own afifairs. 
Why wilt thou so betray thy son's good hap ? ' 
The king of gods sent me from highest heav'n, 
To sound this angry message in thine ears : 
Vain man, what monarchy expect'st thou here ? 
Or with what thought sleep'st thou on Lybia's shore ? 
If that all glory hath forsaken thee. 
And thou despise the praise of such attempts ; 
Yet think upon Ascanius* prophecy, 
And young lulus, more than thousand years. 
Whom I have brought from Ida, where he slept. 
And bore young Cupid unto Cypress isle. 

jEn. This was my mother that beguil'd the queen. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHii|e' 5t3 




And made me take my brother for ipy son $ 

Ko marvel. Dido, though thou be in love, 

That daily dandiest Cupid in thy arms : 

Welcome, sweet child ! where hast thou been this long ? 

j48c. Eating sweet comfits with Queen Dido's maid. 
Who ever since hath lull'd me in her arms. 

j^n, Sergestus, bear him hence unto our ships, 
Lesf. Dido, spying, keep him for a pledge. 

Her. Spend'st thoii thy time about this little boy. 
And giv'st not ear unto the charge I bring ? • 
r tell thee, thou must straight to Italy, 
Or else abide the wrath of frowning Jove. 

^n. How should I put into the raging deep. 
Who have no sails nor tackling for my ships ? 
What, would the gods have me, Deucalion-like, 
Float up and down where'er the billows drive ? 
Though she repaired my fleet and gave me ships. 
Yet hath she ta'en away my oars and masts. 
And left me neither sail nor stern aboard. 

Enter to them Iarbas. 

far. How now, iEneas, sad ! What mean these dumps ? 
JSn, Iarbas, I am clean beside myself; 
SoYB hath heap'd on me such a desp'rate charge, 
Which neither art nor reason may achieve. 
Nor I devise by what means to contrive. 

lar. As how, I pray ? May I entreat you, tell ? 
JSn. With speed he bids me sail to Italy ; 
MHiereas I want both rigging for my fleet, 
Ajid also furniture for these my men. 



54 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

lar. If that be all, then cheer thy drooping looks. 
For I will furnish thee with such supplies. 
Let some of those thy followers go with me. 
And they shjall have what thing soe'er thou need'st 

jEn, Thanks^ good larbas^ for thy friendly aid. 
Achates and the rest shall wait on thee, 
Whil'st I rest thankful for this courtesy. 

[eait larbas and ^nea^s trait 
Now will I haste unto Lavinian shore. 
And raise a new foundation to old Troy. 
Witness the gods, and witness heaven and earth. 
How loth I am to leave these Lybian bounds. 
But that eternal Jupiter commands. 

Enter Dido. 

Dido, I fear I saw ^Eneas' little son. 
Led by Achates to the Trojan fleet : 
If it be so, his father means to fly ; 
But here he is ; now. Dido, try thy wit. 

Enter ^Eneas. 

iEneas, wherefore go thy men aboard ? 
Why are thy ships nev rigg'd ? Or to what end 
Launched from the haven, lie they in the road ? 
Pardon me, though I ask ; love makes me ask. 

^n. O, pardon me, if I resolve thee why ; 
iEneas will not feign with his dear love ; 
I must from hence : this day, swift Mercury, 
When I was laying a platform for these walls. 
Sent from his father Jove, appeared to me. 



. DIDO, QUSEN OF CARTHAGE. 65 

And in his name rebuk*d me bitterly. 

Wot lingering here, neglecting Italy. 

"^ Dido, But yet iEneas will not leave his lo?e. 

^ JSn» I am commanded, by immortal Jove, . 

To leave this town, and pass to Italy, 

And therefore must of force. 
Dido. These words proceed not from iSneas' heart. 
jEn, Not from my heart, for I can hardly go ; 

And yet I may not stay. Dido, farewell ! 
Dido, Farewell I is this the mends for Dido's love ? 

Do Trojans use to quit their lovers th\LS ? 

Fare well may Dido, so iSneas stay ; 

I die, if my iEneas say farewell ! 
^n. Then let me go, and never say farewell. 

Let me go ; farewell ! I must from hence. 
Dido, These words are poison to poor Dido's soul :' 

O, speak like my iEneas> like my love. 

Why look'st thou toward the sea ? The time hath been 

When Dido's beauty chang'd thine eye to her. 

Am I less fair, than when thou saw'st me first ? 

O, then, iEneas, 'tis for grief of thee. • 
Say thou wilt stay in Carthage with thy queen. 
And Dido's beauty will return again, 
^neas, say, how can'st thou take thy leave ? 
Wilt thou kiss Dido ? O, thy lips have sworn 
To stay with Dido : can'st thou take her hand ? 
Thy hand and mine have plighted mutual faith. 
Therefore, unkind iGneas, must thou say. 
Then let me go, and never say farewell. 

jEn, O, Queen of Carthage, wert thou ugly black. 



56 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

^neas could not choose but hold thee dear : 
Yet must he not gainsay the gods' behest. 
y ,^ Dido, The gods 1 what gods be those that seek my death 
Wherein have I offended Jupiter, 
That he should take i&eas from mine arms ? 
O, no, the gods weigh not what lovers do ; 
It is iEneas calls iSneas hence, 
And woeful Dido, by these blubber'd cheeks. 
By this right hand, and by our spousal rights. 
Desires iEneas to remain with her ; 
Si bene quid de te merui,fuit aut tibi quidquam 
Dulce meum, f$i^lfrere domUs labentis : et istam 
Oro, si quis adkuc precibtu hcuA, exue mentem, 

jEn. Desine meque tuis incendere teque querelis: 
Italiam non sponte sequar,* 

Dido. Hast thou forgot how many neighbour kings 
Were up in arms, for making thee my love ? 
How Carthage did rebel, larbas storm. 
And all the world call'd me a second Helen, 
For being entangl'd by a stranger's looks ; 
So thou would*st prove as true as Paris did. 
Would, as fair Troy was, Carthage might be sack*d. 
And I be call'd a second Helena. 
Had I a son by thee, the grief were less. 
That I might see iEneas in his face : 
Now if thou goest, what can'st thou leave l>ehind. 
But rather will augment than ease my woe ? 

jEn, In vain, my love, thou spend'st thy fainting breath-. 

» VirgU, Ub. iv. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAOE. ^7 

If words might move me, I were overcome. 
Dido, And wilt thou not be moVd with Dido's words ? 

Thy mother was no goddess, perjurM man ! 

Nor Dardanus the author of thy stock ; 

Bat thou art sprung from Scythian Caucasus, 

And tigers of Hyrcania gave thee suck. 

Ah, foolish Dido ! to forbear this long I 

Wast thou not wreckM upon this Lybian shore. 

And cam's t to Dido like a fisher swain ? 

Repaired not I thy ships, made thee a king. 

And all thy needy followers noblemen ? 

O serpent ! that came creeping from the shore. 

And I for pity harbour'd in my bosom ; 

Wilt thou now slay me with thy venom'd sting, 

And hiss at Dido for preserving thee ? 

Go, go, and spare not ; seek out Italy : 

X hope, that that which love forbids me do, 

The rocks and sea-gulls will perform at large, 

And thou shalt perish in the billows' ways. 

To whom poor Dido doth bequeath revenge : 

Aye, traitor ! and the waves shall cast thee up, 

"Where thou and fedse Achates first set foot ; 

"Which, if it chance, I'll give ye burial. 

And weep upon your lifeless carcases. 

Though thou nor he will pity me a whit. 

Why star'st thou in my face ? If thou wilt stay. 

Leap in mine arms ; mine arms are open wide f 

If not, turn from me, and I'll turn from thee : 

For though thou hast the power to say, farewell ! 

I have not power to stay thee. — \eant jEneas^ Is he gone ? 




58 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

Aye, but he'll come again ; he cannot go ; 
V He loves me too, too well to serve me so : 

Yet he that in my sight would not relent. 
Will, being absent, be obdurate still : 
By this is he got to the water-side ; 
And see, the sailors take him by the hand ; 
But he shrinks back ; and now, remembering me. 
Returns amain : welcome, welcome, my love I 
But Where's iEneas ? Ah ! he*s gone, he's gone ! 

Enter ANNAi 

^nna. What means my sister, thus to rave and cry ? 

Dido, O Anna ! my iEneas is aboard, 
And, leaving me, will sail to Italy. 
Once did'st thou go, and he came back again ; 
Now bring him back, and thou shalt be a queen. 
And I will live a private life with him. 

^nfut. Wicked iEneas ! 

Dido. Call him not wicked, sister ; speak him fair. 
And look upon him with a mermaid's eye : 
Tell him, I never vow'd at Aulis' gulf 
The desolation of his native Troy, 
Nor sent a thousand ships unto the walls. 
Nor ever violated faith to him ; 
Request him gently, Anna, to return : 
I crave but this, — ^he stay a tide or two. 
That I may learn to bear it patiently : 
If he depart thus suddenly, I die. 
Run, Anna, run ! stay not to answer me. 

j4nnq. I go, fair sister ! heaven grant good success ! [e^t- 



DIDO, QUEEN OP CARTHAGE, 69 

Enter the Nurse. 

Nurse, O Dido ! your little son Ascanius 
Xs gone ! He lay with me last night, 
^nd in the morning he was stoPn from me : 
H think, some fairies have beguiFd me. 

£>ido, O cursed hag and false dissembling wretch ! 
That slay'st me with thy harsh and hellish tale. 
Thou, for some petty gift, hast let him go. 
And I am thus deluded of my boy : 
Away with her to prison presently ! 
Trait'ress too keen ! and cursed sorceress I 

Nurse. I know not what you mean by treason, I, 
I am as true as any one of yours. [eant. 

Dido, Away with her ! Suflfer her not to speak ! 
My sister comes ; I like not her sad looks. 

Re-enter Anna. 

Anna, Before I came, iEneas was aboard. 
And, spying me, hoist up the sails amain ; 
But I cryM out, ' iSneas ! false iEneas ! stay !' 
Then 'gan he wag his hand, which, yet held up, 
Made me suppose, he would have heard me speak ; 
Then 'gan they drive into the ocean ; 
Which, when I view'd, I cry'd, *iEneas, stay ! 
Dido, fair Dido wills ^Eneas' stay !' 
Vet he, whose heart's of adamant or flint, 
My tears nor plaints could mollify a whit. 
Xhen carelessly I rent my hair for grief; 
Which seen to all, though he beheld me not. 



60 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

They 'gan to move him to redress my ruth. 
And stay awhile to hear what I could say ; 
But he, dappM under hatches, sailM away. 
Dido, O Anna! Anna I I will follow him. 
Anna. How can ye go, when he hath all your fleet ? 
Dido. PU frame me wings of wax, like Icarus, 
And, o'er his ship, will soar unto the sun. 
That they may melt, and I fall in his arms ; 
Or else. 111 make a prayer unto the waves. 
That I may swim to him, like Triton's niece : 
O Anna ! fetch Orion's harp. 
That I may 'tice a dolphin to the shore. 
And ride upon his back unto my love ! 
Look, sister, look ! lovely iEneas' ships; 
See ! see ! the billows heave him up to heaven. 
And now down fall the keels into the deep : 
O sister, sister I take away the rocks ; 
They'll break his ships. O Proteus 1 Neptune 1 Jove I 
Save, save iEneas ; Dido's liefest love ! 
Now is he come on shore safe, without hurt ; 
But, see ! Achates wills him put to sea. 
And all the sailors merry make for joy ; 
But he, rememb'ring me, shiinks back again : 
See where he comes ; welcome ! welcome, my love ! 

Anna. Ah, si{>ter, leave these idle fantasies : 
^weet sister ! cease ; remember who you are. 

Dido. Dido I am, unless I be deceiv'd ; 
And must I rave thus for a runagate ? 
Must I make ships for him to sail away ? 
Nothing can bear me to him but a ship. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 61 

And he hath all my fleet. What shall I do, 

Sut die in fury of this oversight ? 

Aye, I must be the murd'rer of myself; 

No, but I am not ; yet I will be straight. 

Anna, be glad ; now have I found a mean 

To rid me from these thoughts of lunacy : 

Not far from hence there is a woman famous'd for arts. 

Daughter unto the nymphs Hesperides, 

Who will'd me sacrifice his 'ticing reliques : 

Go, Anna, bid my servants bring me fire. [^eofit Anna. 

Enter Iarbas. 

lar. How long will Dido mourn a stranger's flight. 
That bath dishonoured her and Carthage both ? 
How long shall I with grief consume my days. 
And reap no guerdon for my truest love ? 

Dido. Iarbas, talk not of iEneas ; let him go ; 
Lay to thy hands, and help me make a fire. 
That shall consume all that this stranger left ; 
For I intend a private sacrifice. 
To cure my mind, that melts for uiJkind love. 

lar. But, afterwards, will Dido grant me love ? 

Dido, Aye, aye, Iarbas, after this is done, 
^one in the world shall have my love but thou ; 
So, leave me now ; let none approach this place. 

[eofit Iarbas. 
I^ow, Dido, with these reliques bum thyself. 
And make ^neas famous through the world 
Vor peijury and slaughter of a queen. 
Here Ues the sword that in the darksome cave 



62 DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 

He drew, and swore by, to be true to me : 
Thou shalt bum first ; thy crime is worse than his. 
Here lies the garment which el oth*d him in 
When first he came on shore ; perish thou too ! 
These letters, lines, and perjur'd papers, all 
Shall bum to cinders in this precious flame. 
And now, ye gods, that guide the starry frame. 
And order all things at your high dispose. 
Grant, though the traitors land in Italy, 
They may be still tormented with unrest ; 
And, from mine ashes, let a conqueror rise. 
That may revenge this treason to a queen. 
By ploughing up his countries with the sword. 
Betwixt this land and that be never league, 
Littora Uttoribtu contrarki,fluctihus undas 
Imprecor : arma armis : pugneni ipsique nepotes:* 
Live, ficdse iEneas I truest Dido dies I 
Sic, sic Jurat ire sub umbras. 

Enter Anna. 

^nna. O help, larbas I Dido, in these flames. 
Hath burnt herself! ah, me I unhappy me ! 

Enter Iarbas, running. 

far. Cursed larbas ! die to expiate 
The grief that tires upon thine inward soul : 
Dido, I come to thee. Ah, me, ^Gneas I \_kilis himself. 

AnfM. What can my tears or cries prevail me now ? 
Dido is dead, larbas slain ; larbas, my dear love ! 

• VirgU. 



DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE. 63 

^eet larbas 1 Anna's sole delight ; 
it fatal destiny envies me thus, 
ee my sweet larbas slay himself ? 
Anna now shall honour thee in death, 

mix her blood with thine ; this shall I do, 
t gods and men may pity this my death, 

rue our ends, senseless of life or breath : 
7, sweet larbas ! stay ! I come to thee. [^kith herself. 



THE END. 



LONDON t 

Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch Street. 



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THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 



A COMEDY ; 



BY HENRY GLAPTHORNE. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO., 

90, CHBAPSIDC, AND 8, PALL MALL; 
AND ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH. 



MDCXCXXV. 



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LONDON : 

Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenehurcb StveeL 



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THE LADY 8 PRIVILEGE. 



^18 is the latest and best of Glapthorne's plays ; — it is 
^^Tt dramatic, and less extravagant, than " Albertus Wal- 
l^Ustein/* although by no means free from the hyperbole 
^d vicious redundancy of figure which distinguish the 
*^le of this author. " The Lady's Privilege" is, however, 
altogether an eloquent composition, and is written Vith 
^ore feeling than the author usually displays. 



AS 



THE LADIES PRIVILEDGE. 



<1? WAS ACTED WITH GOOD ALLOWANCE, AT THE 
COCK FIT IN DRURY LANE, AND BEFORE THEIR 
MAIE8TIES AT WHITE HALL, TWICE. 



BY THEIR MAIESTIES SERVANTS. 



THE AUTHOR, HENRY GLAPTHOR?{E. 



Militat onmis amaiu, et habet sua castra Cupida 



IMPRINTED AT LONDON by J. OKES, pob FRANCIS CONSTABLE ; 

AND ABB TO BB SOLD AT HIS SHOPS IN KINO'S STBKBT, AT THE 
SIONB OF THB OOAT, AND IN WBSTMINSTBB HALL. 



1640. 






i 






TO THE 

■ 

"^RUE EXAMPLE OF HEROIC VIRTUE, AND FAVOURER OF ARTS, 

SIR FREDERICK CORNWALLIS. 



Sir, 

You are so well acquainted with the justice 
of nobility, that your own fame is your own history : you 
are jight in that. Sir. Nor need I study to express it in a 
larger character, since it is texted already in a volume, 
time (which is edax rerum) cannot exterminate. . Think 
not, worthiest Sir, this can in me be flattery ; your worth 
admits none : nor dare I sell myself to such a slavery, as to 
begin my service to you with that unmanly prostitution : . 
you have always afforded me such transcendent favours, 
that I should descend to ingratitude, should not I study a 
retribution : which though I cannot reach at, accept. Sir, 
I beseech you, this essay of gratitude from 

Your most obliged honourer, 

HEN: GLAPTHORNE 



THE PROLOGUE. 

Tis worth my Fears, to see within this place, 
Wifs most accomplish'd Senate ; tis a grace 
Transcending our desert, though not our fear. 
Lest what our Author writes should not appear 
Fit for this judging presence : all the ways 
He knows that lead to the true throne of Plays 
Are rough uneasy paths, such as to ti-ead 
Would fright an active able Muse ; strike dead 
A weak and timorous traveller : for some 
Will give the play a piteous Martyrdom, 
Ere it hath life ; yet have, t' excite that flame. 
Only distrust in the new Author's name. 
Otiiers, for shortness, force the Authoi' run, 
Atid end his Play, before his Plot be done. 
Some in an humorous squeamishness will say. 
They only come to hear, not see the Play ; 
Others to see it only ; there have been 
And are good store, that come but to be seen. 
Not see oor hear the Play : How shall we then 
Please the so various appetites of men ? 
It starts our Author's confidence, who, by me. 
Tells you thus much t' excuse the Comedy : 
You shall not here be feasted with the sight 
Of antick shows; but actions, such as might 
And have been real, and in such a phrase 
As men should speak in : Ladies, if you prsuse. 
At least allow his language and his plot 
Your own just Privilege ; his Muse hath got 
So full a wreath, that, spite of Envy's frown. 
Shall in his brow sit as a lasting crown. 

b 



: S 



I :'• 



1 ;! 






PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Trivulci, Duke of Genoa, 
DoRiA, Admiral of Genoa* 
ViTELLi, h%9 Friend. 
Adorn I, his Lieutenant, 
BoNiVET, a Kinsman to Trioulci. 
Lactantio, a Genoese Lord* 
Sabelli, Page to Doria, 
Frangipan, Nephew to Corimba, 
Senators, Officers of State. 

Chrisba, 



Nieces to Trivulci, 

EURIONE 



Corimba, a Court Matron. 
Priest, Executioner y F'irginSy Attendcmts, 
The Scene — Genoa. 



} 

f 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 



ACT I. SCENE I. 



Enter Bonivet, Lactantio, and Vitblli. 

tm. Is the news certun he is arrived ? 
^^ 1^. The Duke 

^4 sure intelligence that the whole fleet 



ohor'd last night without the bay, and now, 

confirmation of it, the thick breath 
Ills saluting cannon hangs in clouds 

the Citadel ; and the glad noise 
the applauding people gratulates 
"^ia entrance to the river. 

^on. The day rose 
So cheerfully, as if it meant to guild, 
▼Vith unaccustom'd light, his smIs, swoln big 
As pregnant mother, with the pleasing air 
Of victory. 

B 



2 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Lac. The rumour of the fleet 
Has fill'd all Italy with wonder, how 
So small a number should, in open fi^ht. 
Defeat the Turkish navy ; und conclude 
The General's skill and valour the main cause 
Of the atchievement. 

f^it. He has retum'd as large 
Assurance of his worth as when his force, 
Back'd with successive fortune, (which attends 
His mighty resolution) overthrew 
The power of Venice in a fight which chang'd 
The sea into a flame, and took me in't 
His fortunate captive. 

Bon, Sir, 'tis noble in you 
To acknowledge that as good, which might have been 
Your imminent ruin ; stately buildings so 
Rise out of ancient structures, which the rage 
Of eating time or anger of the winds 
Had totter'd from the* ground-works. You may prove 
As fairly happy in the General's love 
As in the honour which your name or country 
Conferr'd on your desert. 

Pit, You speak the scope 
Of my intention. A perfect friend 
Includes both honour, country, family. 
And all that's dear and holy : such a friend 
As is my Doria ; to whose spacious merit 
Succession shall pay volumes; who was man 
Ere, in the smooth field of his face, rough age 
Display'd his hairy ensign ; who has puU'd 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 2 

Bright honour's wreath from her triumphant front. 

In battles, when the trembling sea, being calm. 

Did crowd, and thrust his waves into a storm. 

To part the dreadful fury. 
Lac, The report 

Of his land services do stand on terms 

Of competition with the multitude 

Of his sea victories. 
Fit, Yet must subscribe 

To his naval triumphs, though the land 

Has seen him conqueror, when the bodies slain 

Buried the ground they died on, which did shake 
To view itself entomb'd by them for whom 
It was ordain'd a sepulchre ; the drums 
Were to his ears delightful as the lute ; 
l^es, moving then in forest, seem'd as groves 
Of lo^ty cedars, stirr'd by sportive winds ; 
^Ai^d when war's choristers, the lofty fife, 
^A^d surly trumpet, sung an army dirge, 
^hat fatal music rapp'd his sprightful sense 

]^ike jovial hymns at nuptials. 
Bon, You cannot exceed 

Hh praise's duty, since his worth contains 

Honour's most several attributes. 

Enter Fbangipan. 

Z^€f^, Signer Frangipan ! 

^SL't 1 riding post on foot ! whither in such haste ? 
^o«. Very well met, gentlemen : I scarce have breath 
•-»^ter a wise word vet. 



4 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Lac. We do belieire you, Signor, and are in doubt 
When you'll have leisure for't. 

Fran, Hear you the news ? 
The (}eneral*s arriy'd ! farewell ! He will not land 
Till I have had the maiden-head of his hand. \ea\t, 

Bon, Tis such another parrot, — ^he relates 
Things by tradition, as dogs bark ; his news 
Still marches in the rear, yet he relates it 
As confidently as if each tale he tells 
Was to be straight inserted as an eighth 
To the seven former wonders. But here comes one 
Will cut oflf the fool's character : 

Enter DoRiA, Adorn i, and Sabelli. 

renowned General. 
Do us the gracious honour to permit us 
Salute the hand has sav'd our country ! 

Do, Noble friends ! 
I am more victorious in your early loves 
Than in the Turkish Conquest, though I remain 
A captive to your kindness. My Vitelli, 
The solid earth, or a continued rock. 
May, by some strange eruptions of the wind. 
Be rent and so divided, but true friends 
Are adjuncts most inseparable. I have 
Still worn thee here, Vitelli, as a jewel 
Fit for no other cabinet. Gentlemen, 
Your welcome hands ; methinks, we should embrace. 
So as the ships grapple in hot fight ; nor part 
Till our affectionate fury has discharg'd 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

"^^ollies of joyful courtesy. 

Ador, This is fitter ceremony for them 
'Xlian to embrace an enemy, who will not part 
d>n terms so easy : these gentlemen know better 
To cut a caper than a cable. 

Or board a pink in the burdels, than a pinnace at sea. 
X marvel, my lord should know such milk-sops. 

Vit. My lord. 
You come t' instruct us courtship ; youVe taught 
Your foes to fear your valour : you appear 
^8 if this were your nuptial-day, on which 
You were to wed bright triumph ; but you can 
^s well court peace in silks as raging war 
In burnish'd steel, and touch the ravishing strings 
IVith as much cunning industry as if 
IMars could, like Orpheus, strike the trembling harp. 
!Signor Adorni, welcome home I I hope 
You've made a richer prize than when my ship 
•Struck to your mercy. 

Ador. Yes, we are very like 
"^o make good prize indeed, when all the profit 
^oes to the State and heavy-headed Burgers, 
'X^hat lie and snort at home, and eat what we 
^iveat bloody drops for. 
J^o. Honest Adorni ! 

I bluntness must excuse him, gentlemen. 

vr harsh and rough soe'er he seems, his humour 
1 quickly vary. When I have been tir'd 
^V'i^h toil of war, the observations which 
travels have afforded him of men. 



b THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Countries, and manners, lively set forth 

By his expressive action, has be^ot 

Mirth in my drowsy soul. When you're acqucdnted 

With his conceit of carriage, you'll not affect 

A jovialler companion. — See, the Duke ! 

[he kneels to the Duke : flourUk 

Enter Trivulci, Chrisea, Eurione, and Corimba. 

Tri. My noble warrior I 
Peace now looks lovely on us, since we enjoy 
The author oPt in safety. Rise, my Doria ; 
Let me embrace those youthful limbs which clothe 
War in Love's livery. Thy honour'd father. 
When he returned laden with Turkish spoils. 
As trophies of his valour, from the slaughter 
Of Haly Bassa, at Lcpanto, where 
The Christian name was hazarded, arriv'd not 
More welcome to the State. Believe me, youth> 
Had'st thou a mother living to be proud 
Of thy nativity, unless she wept 
For joy to see thee, could no way express^ 
A more affectionate gladness. Chrisea, 
Eurione, welcome him home who cannot 
Receive an equal grace to the just value 
Of his deservings ! 

Chri, Your grace prepares us for that 
We did intend to offer. 

Corim. Yes, truly, we did. Sir ; this General is ill bred, I 
warrant him, to slight a gentlewoman of my demeanour. 

Dor, My gracious lord I 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 7 

1^0 tender thanks where 'tis a debt, not duty, 
befits an equal ; subjects ought to offer, 
W'ith the sincere devotion that our priests 
■^o prayers to heaven, their hands as sacrifices 
* o their deserving princes, whose sole favours 
^o, as the quickening lustre of the sun, 
CJlierish inferior spirits. Yours have been 
Showered down on me a^ elemental dew 
-^^ the parch'd earth, which drinks it up and cannot 
^ive heaven a retribution ; yet, my duty 
^^cdl speak my willing thankfulness ; and while 
^*i.ese arms can wield victorious steel, no danger 
^*^«dl fright me from that service which I owe 
^y prince and country ; since men are not bom 
' ^>«' themselves only, but their life's a debt 

- o the commonwealth that bred 'ein. 

yw. Gentle warrior ! 

- Ixy father's spirit swells thy soul — ^I read it 
*^ thy submissive loyalty : let's in ; 

*^xs just that those who caus'd the wars to cease 
*H.ould have the early fruits of their own peace. 

[flourish ; ejeeunt all but Corimba and Eurione. 

-Euri, Corimba, 
^sive you employ'd a serious diligence yet, 
-n. giving Lord Vitelli secret notice 
^F my affection to him ? 

€orim. Truly, madam, 
^a I hope to have a husband yet 
'Hre I be fifty, I have been so ta'en up 
A.'bout my new device, I scarce have leisure 



3 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

To say my prayers ; sincerely, ladybird. 
You look sprightly, ravishing ; only this star 
Was not well cut, nor well liud on ; it wanted 
A little of my learned art. Vitelli I 
Doubt him not. Madam ; he shall love you: so, 
Tis pretty neat now ; I would not have a lady 
That wears a glass about her, have the least 
Pimple on her countenance discomposed f it does 
Disgallant a whole beauty. 

Euri. But, Corimba, 
What's this to me ? Thou may'st as well tell tales 
Of love to one departing life : these toys 
Relish with me as bitter pills with children. 
Wilt thou effect my business ^ 

Corim. I confess, 
I have been very fortunate in bringing 
Couples together, though 1 ne*er could couple 
Myself with any. Your ladyship could not 
Have chose a better agent. 

Enter Frangipan. 

Fran. Save you, sweet lady I Save you, aunt I I have 
Lost all my morning exercise at tennis 
In seeking you, and yet was still in hazard 
Whether 1 should meet you. I must request a little 
Help from your art, good aunt ; a patch or two 
To make me appear more lovely, for my glass 
Tells me I have a very scurvy face. 
Without some ornament. 

Corim. Tis a good innocent face ; be not asham'd on't LS 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 9 

111 cut out one instantly. Nay, I never 

Oo unprovided of materials. Let me see — 

What form is best for thee. Thou'rt something timorous ; 

A heart, stuck neatly on thy face, will excite 

Thy heart to more audacity. Good Madam, 

Does't not become him prettily ? Cousin, be sure. 

You do commend this fashion to all gentlemen. 

Wer't but as common among them as ladies. 

My wit would be eternally made famous 

For the invention. 

Fran, Will't please you to despatch, aunt ? Pm in haste ; 
IVe a whole staple of news to vent. 

Corim. Of what troe ? 
Aside."] I would have my kindred more ridiculous 
To th* world than I am. [aloud."] Cousin, all your news 
Is stale : invent me, rather, some choice story. 
How true or false no matter, and declare't 
For news, 'twill please far better, and endear 
Your judgment i'the relation. 

Enter Doria, Chrisea, and Sabelli. 

Fran, Noble General, you're happily encounter'd. 
Have you seen my aunt yet, Signor ? here she is. I have 
News to inform you, worth your knowledge. 

Dor, Keep them. 
Good Signor, till some other time. Eurione, 
We must implore your absence ; we'd be private. 

Corim. Why, we have been trusted 
\^lth as good secrets ; please your Lordship, ^ 

Accept this crescent ; you see, my cousin 



10 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Is in the fashion ; let me lay it on. 
In sooth, your face is, for a soldier's. 
Too smooth and polite ; this device will shew 
As't^had n scar upon it, which is an honour 
To fEM^s military. 

Dot, Good Madam gravity. 
Keep your devices for your chamber-lords, 
That dance to ladies' shadows ! Pray, begone ! 
We need not your society — Sabelli, 
Put to the door, and then begone ! — 

[exevnt all but Chrisea and Doria, 
Chrisea ! 
The modest turtles, which, r 

In view of more lascivious birds. 
Exchange their innocent loves in timorous sighs. 
Do, when alone, most piteously convert 
Their chirps to billing, and, with feather'd arms. 
Encompass mutually their gawdy necks. 

Chri, You would infer, that we 
Should, in their imitation, spend this time. 
Intended for a conference, which concerns us 
Nearer than compliment. 

Dor. Why, my Chrisea, 
We may entwine as freely, since our loves 
Are not at age to conceive a sin. 
Thine being new born, and mine too young to speak 
A lawless passion ; for my services, 
Pay me with priceless treasure of a kiss. 
While, from the balmy fountains of thy lips. 
Distils a moisture, precious as the dew. 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 1 1 

The amorous bounty of the morn 
Oasts on the rose's cheek : what wary distance 
X>o you observe ? Speak^ and enrich my ears 
With accents more harmonious than the lark's. 
When she sings hymns to harvest. 

Chru Sure, my lord. 
You've studied compliment j I thought the war 
Had taught men resolution, and not language. 

Dor, Oh ! you instruct me justly : I should rather 
Have ta'en the modest privilege of your lip. 
And then endeavoured to repay the grace 
With my extremest eloquence. 

Chri. You mistake me. 

Dor. Remit my ignorance, and let me read 
The mystery of thy language in thy looks. 
In which are lively characters of love. 
Writ in the polish 'd tablets of thy cheeks. 
Which seem to vary colours like the clouds 
When they presage a storm ; and those bright eyes 
Dart unaccustom'd beams, which shine as anger 
flashed from their fiery motion. 

Chru You misconstrue 
The intention of my looks. I am not angry 
Though much distemper'd. 

Dor. At what ? by whom ? 
Lives there a creature so extremely bad. 
Dares discompose your patience ? Speak : reveal 
The monster to me. Were he fenced with flames. 
Or lock'd in bulwarks of congealed ice. 
And all the fiends stood sentinels to guard 



12 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

The passage^ I would enforce it to his heart; 
Through which, the mounting violence of my rage 
Should pierce like lightning. 

Chri, I believe. 
That, in some trivial quarrel to redeem 
My fame, should scandal touch it, you would fight. 
Perhaps, to shew your valour ; but I have 
A task t' enjoin you which my fears possess me 
You dare not venture to accept. 

Dor, By truth. 
You wrong my faith and courage, to suspect me 
Of so extreme a cowardice. Have I stood the heat 
Of battles till, upon the mountainous piles 
Of slaughtered carcases, the souls which left 'em 
Seem'd to ascend to heaven, that your suspidon 
Should taint my honour with this base revolt ? 
This is not noble in you. 

Chri, Do not rage. 
When you shall hear it, you will then confess 
Your confident error. 

Dor, My loyalty will not 
Permit that strong rebellion in my breast 
To doubt the meanest falsehood in a word 
Her voice can utter, which should charm the world 
To a belief some cherubim has left 
Its room in heaven to carol to the earth 
Celestial anthems, and I now begin 
To question my own frailty ; but, by all 
Which we call good or holy, be't your will 
I should invade inevitable death 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 13 

In its most ugly horror, piy obedience 
Shall, like a careless pilot, cast this bark 
On that pale rock of ruin. 
Ckri. Will you swear this ? 
Dor. Yes: invent 
A form of oath so binding that no law 
Or power can dispense with, and 111 seal't 
With my best blood. Pray, madam, tell me what 
The imposition is you judge so easily 
Will stagger my just truth, that I may fly. 
On love's light wings, to act it. 

Chri, Hear it, then ; and do not. 
As you respect your oath or love, request 
The cause of what I shall command. 

Dor. Still suspicious ! 
My honour be my witness, which no action 
Shall violate, I will not. 

Chri. Enough : that vow 
Cannot but be material ; receive it : — 
I must no longer love you. 

Dor. That's no command ; what did you say, Chrisea ? 

Chri. I must no longer love you : and command you. 
Leave your affection to me. 

Dor. You're very pleasant, lady. 

Chri. You'll find me very serious ; nay, more; 
I love another ; and I do enjoin you. 
Since 'tis a man you may o'er-rule, t' assist me 
In my obtaining him, without whose love 
I'm resolute to perish ! 

Dor. Sure I dream. 



14 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Or some strange sudden death has changed this frame 
To immortality ; for, were I flesh. 
And should hear this, certain my violent rage 
Would pull me to some desp'rate act beyond 
The reach of fury : these are words would infect 
Rose-colour'd Patience' clear and lovely front 
With loathsome leprosy, change flames to tears. 
And, with unusual harshness of the sound. 
Deafen the genius of the world. 

Chri, Where's now • 
The strength of soul you boasted ? Does the noise 
Of the death-speaking cannon not affright 
Your settled resolution, and the voice 
Of a weak woman shake your youthfiil blood 
Into an ague ? since you so ill bear this. 
When you shall hear the man whose love has stol'n 
Your interest, you will rage hiore than unlimited fire 
In populous cities. 

Dor, Sure, 'tis she who speaks : 
I do enjoy, yet, sound untainted sense : 
Each faculty does, with a peaceful harmony, retain 
Its proper organ $ yet she did rehearse. 
She must no longer love me. Oh ! that word 
Transforms the soul of quiet into rage. 
Above distracted madness. Madam ! tell me — 
What place is this ? for you have led me 
Into a subtle labyrinth, where I never 
Shall have fruition of my former freedom. 
But, like an humble anchorite, that digs 
With his own nails his grave, must live confined 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 15 

HTo the sad maze for ever. 

Chri. Sir, you cannot 
£y most submissive and continued prayers, 
Heclaim my affection, which stands as fix'd as fate 
fjpon your friend Vitelli. 
Dor. My friend Vitelli ! 
Chri, vSir, I not use 
To jest my life away j Vitelli is 
The person to obtain whose precious love 

I do conjure you by all ties of honour 

T' employ your^-utmost diligence. 
Dor, Can I be 

80 tame o' the sudden ? has the feeble spirit 

Of some degenerate coward frighted hence 

My resolution, which has given a law 

To fate itself, that I now become 

The stale to my own ruin ? O Chrisea ! 

Who wert so good, that virtue would have sigh'd 

At the unwelcome spectacle, had you 

Appeared but woman in a passion. 

Though of the slightest consequence ; oh, do not 

Abjure that saint-like temper; it will be 

A change hereafter burd'nous to your soul. 

As sin to one who, all his life-time blest 

With peace of conscience, at his dying minute 

Falls into mortal enmity with heaven. 

And perishes eternally. 

Chri, My will guides my determination, and you must 

In honour act your promise. 
. Dor. Yes, I will. 



16 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGfi. 

Since you can urge it^ tho' but two 
Things precious to me> and one cruel word 
Robs me of both my friend and her. Chrisea, 
I have not left another sigh to move. 
Nor tear to beg your pity. 

Chri. They are but vain : 
You may as easily think to kiss the stars 
'Cause they shine on you, as recall my vows^ 
Which 1 will urge no further, but wish you 
Regard your honour. But farewell 1 I must 
Be cruel ere to my own love unjust. [emt. 

Dor, She's gone ! What vapour, which the flattering sun 
Attracts to heaven, as to create a star. 
And throw it a fading meteor to the earth. 
Has fall'n like me ? I am not yet grown ripe 
For perfect sorrow ; but, as a bubbling brook. 
That sports and curls within its flow'ry banks 
Till the vast sea devour it, only falling 
Into the abyss of mischief ; passions surround 
My intellectual powers ; only my heart. 
Like to a rocky island, does advance 
Above the foamy violence of the flood 
Its unmoVd head : love be my careful guide ! 
Who sails 'gainst danger both of wind and tide. 



THE LADY^ PRIYILEGB. 17 

ACT n. SCENE I. 
Enter Bonivet, Lactantio, and Adorni. 

Bon, Thanks^ good Adorni ; we are much endeared 
To your relation. This rich Corsic wine 
Erected our dull spirits, and you shall 
Command our service in as high and jocund 
A nature. 

Ador, Sir, although I am 
One that affects not the nice phrase of Court, 
Having been nurs'd in war, yet I can frame 
Myself to imitation of what humour 
Shall there, or anywhere, appear to be 
Worthy my laughter. 

Bon, You have explained your knowledge. We, who 
breathe 
Only the air of Genoa, and ne'er tasted 
Foreign behaviour, covet nothing more 
Than certain knowledge of it, as 'tis proper to 
Complexions intellectual to delight 
In novelties : your Spaniard, as you say. 
Is of a stiud, serious, and haughty garb ; 
Acts all his words with shrugs and gestures ; kisses 
His hand away in kindness ; is of diet 
Sparing, will pick his teeth as formally 
After an orange, or a clove of garlick, 
CWhich is his ordinary morsel) as he'd fed 
On partridges or pheasants. 



18 THE LADY'S PRIYILEOB. 

A<hr, ^VA his grace 
After his dinner. Sir ; and to confirm 
Their most officious gravity, a Castilian 
Was, for some crime in Paris, to be whipt 
In triumph through the streets, and, being admonished 
To be more swift of foot, [and] so avoid 
The dreadful lash the sooner, in ecom answered. 
He rather would be flay'd alive than bate 
A titUe of his gravity. 

Lac, Much good 
Do it his patient shoulders: but, Adomi, 
What think you of the French ? 

Ador, Very airy people, who participate 
More fire than earth ; yet, generally, good> 
And nobly disposition'd ; something inclining 
To over-weening fancy. — 

Enter Corimba. « 

This lady 
Tells my remembrance of a comic scene 
I once saw in their theatre. 

Bon, Add it to 
Your former courtesies, and express it. 

Ador. Your entreaty 
Is a command, if this grave lady please 
To act the Lady I must court. ^^ • 

Corim, Why, do you think I cannot play the woman? I '^' 
have play'd a woman's part about twenty years ago in a -^^ 
Court masque; and, flio' I say't, as well as some o' them, -i^ ' 
and have been courted too. But it is truth, I have a fool "^ 



i 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 19 

ish quality, — as many more women are guilty of besides 
myself, — I always love them best which slight me most, 
and scorn those that do court me. Look you, Signor, if 't 
be a Lo?er\s part you are to act, take a black spot or two. 
I can furnish you ; 'twill make your face more amorous, 
and appear more gracious in your mistress' eyes. 
Adw, Stand fair, lady. 

Corim, Tis your part to stand fair. Sir, doubt not my 
carriage. [Adorni acts furiously. '\ O, most rare man ! sin- 
cerely, I shall love the French the better while I live, for 
this. Nay, pray. Sir ! Gentlemen, entreat the man to pa- 
cify his wrath ! Tell him, Fll love him, rather than see 
him rage thus. 

Bon. He would have just reason to be mad, indeed, then ; 
But now the mode is altered. [Adorni acts again, 

Corim. Excellently ravishing ! this is of force to make 
the hardest-hearted lady love him. Can I entreat him but 
to teach my cousin some of his French, he will for ever be 
engallanied. 

Enter Eurione and Frangipan. 

Bon. Beauteous cousin I 
You've miss'd the quaintest sport I Honest Adorni ! 
You would endear this lady to you, would you 
Please to re-act it. 

Ador. Nay, if you make me common once, farewell ! 
I am not for your company. 

Corim. Pray, Sir, a word or two : here is a gentleman, — 
Nay, nephew, though I say't, a toward young man, — 
Vouchsafe him your acquaintance. 



90 TUB LADY'S PftfVILBOC. 

Adar. Will he fight? Is he a M^dier? 

Corim. No tmly^ Sir^ nor shall he be : 
I would be loth to have my only cousin 
Heated about the heart with lead ; he's dull 
Enough already, FrangijMui, come hither. 
This gentleman wUl, for my sake, teach thee French. 

Ador. For your sake^ reyerend Madam, I shall do't. 
ISir, please you walk, we will confer on rudiments. 

Corim. Come with him, coz. Sir, an you have occasion .^m 
To use me in a pleasure stands within 
The ability of my performance, pray, command ; 
You shall not be deny'd. 

Adar. Gome, Signors, will you walk ? 

[emeunt all but Eurione, Banivet^ and CcrhnbuK^^ 

Euri, Cousin BoniFet, 
I should be glad, after some minutes, to 
Ei^oy your company. 

Ben, I shall attend your ladyship. 

EuH, Corimba, what answer from \ltelli ? do I live ? 
Or, in the killing rigour of his scorn. 
Must I die wretched ? 

Corim, Sincerely, madam. 
You are too timorous of your own deserts. 
Or else you durst not doubt that he, or any, 
You being so neat yourself, and drest as neatly 
As any lady in the Court, should hazard 
The reputation of his wit by slighting 
Such an accomplished beauty. 

Euri, You talk. 
And play the cunning flatterer, to excuse 



THE LADVS PRIVILEGE. ' 21 

Your negligence ; but know, affection's fire 
Once kindled by desire, and blown by thought 
Into a heat, expires a thousand sighs. 
Which, as love's smoke, like incense, fly to heaven : 
While the light fire with nimble wings doth soar 
To its own sphere, true lovers' hearts, who cherish 
The flame till they to ashes bum, and perish. 

Corim, Why, ladybird, are you so passionate ? The gen- 
tleman 
Is a kind gentleman, has all that may 
Set forth a man ; for when I told him how, 
Iiike a hurt deer, you wounded were with love, 
^Ldfe ! how he leapt for joy ! as if the self- 
Same arrow which struck you, had glanc'd on him j 
And, as a token of his love, he sent you 
A bleeding heart in a cornelion, which, 
Beshrew me, most unfortunately I lost. 

ErUer Chrisea. 

Chri, Corimbaisee 
If General Doria be within ! Eurione, [emt Corimba. 

I have been seeking thee. How dost thou, sister ? 
I must demand a question that concerns 
The safety of your fame. 

Euri, I rest 
Secure in mine own innocence, and no malice 
Can forge an accusation which can blemish 
My meanest thought with scandal. 

Chri. I believe ; but know, Eurione, I am inform'd 
You do affect Vitelli, and conjure you. 



22 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

By the dear memory of our mother, tell me 
If the report be certain. 

Euri Should I deny't. 
My love would muster thousand blushes up 
T' invade my guilty cheeks. I must confess, 
I lore him so as modesty and truth 
Afford me warrant. 

Chri. Tis ill done, and childishly, so easily to impart 
The treasure of your liberty to keeping 
Of a neglected stranger. 

JSuri, His own worth 
Deserves as noble knowledge here as many 
Who borrow titular glory from the dust 
Of their forgotten ancestors. 

Chri, You defend him 
Like a brave championess, as if you meant 
T' engage your dearest pawn of life and honour 
In his protection. 

Euri. Say I did, the even'st. 
Though most strict justice, would allow, as lawful. 
My honourable purpose. 

Chri. Fie ! you are led on too wildly by your fane 
sister. 
It ill befits the greatness of your blood 
To seek to mix its pure stream with a poor 
Regardless river. 

Euri. He appears to me 
Broad in his own dimensions as the sea; 
Clear as a brook, whose crystal lips salute 
Only the freshest meadows ; such a creature. 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 23 

Tliat were some cninning painter to express 
An Angel cloth'd in human shape^ he might 
From his derive a pattern. 

Chri. But suppose^ my foncy 
Should oversway my judgment to affect 
Vitelli, sure, your manners will allow me^ 
By willing resignation of your choice^ 
The privilege of my birth-right. 

JEuri. Would you urge 
A claim so justly mine, because you view'd 
The light two years before me ? No, Chrisea; 
Love 's an unlimited passion, that admits 
No ceremon'ous difference. This prerogative. 
Should Queens endeavour, their unvalued dowries 
Are not of worth to purchase ; and though here. 
As it befits me, I observe the distance 
Due to your birth, yet, in love's sacred Court, 
My place is high as yours, and there we may 
Walk hand in hand together. 

Chri. Do not flatter 
Your fancy with this vain conceit. Vitelli 
Must be no more your's. Know, I have enjoin'd 
The General Doria to engage his friend 
T' embrace my proffer'd love to him. 

Euri, You strive. 
Because you think my young and timorous flame 
Unapt t'encounter brave Vitelli's heat. 
As cunning nurses do with f roward babes. 
Fright them into an. appetite ; but say. 
All this were real, think you, Doria would 



24 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

So easily be persuaded to renounce 

His proper interest, and enthral his friend 

To an unwilling slavery ? 

Chri By truth> he has impawn'd his honour to endeavour 
What I have utter'd. Gentle girl, consider 
Love's unresisted violence, and believe 
I would not have a rival to usurp 
A corner in the kingdom of that heart 
Of which I'm sovereign : so farewell, dear soul 1 
Consider on't. [ewit, 

Euri, Consider on't ! why, this is such an act. 
Done by a cruel sister, that shall taint 
That holy name with such a black reproach. 
That should a thousand pious virgins weep 
Rivers of tears, their most immaculate drops 
Would not wash white her scandal. Hapless girl. 
That in love's tempests wert but lately tost. 
And now, recover'd, in a calm art lost. 

Enter Lactantio. 

Lac. Madam, the Duke intreats your instant company. 

Euri, I shall attend his pleasure : good Lactantio ! 
If you can meet my cousin Bonivet, 
Desire him visit me. [eak. 

Enter Doria. 

Dor, Noble Lactantio, 
You 're happily encounter'd. I expected 
My friend Vitelli here : this is his hour ; 
I wonder he is tardy. 



THE LADY*S PRIVILEGE. 25 

Lac. Your lordship prevents the time with speedy or else 
ViteUi 
Has some impediment by business. 

Enter Vitelli. 

Sir, 

You're opportunely welcome, to deliver 
Your own excuse. I was about to stretch 
My invention for you. 

Fit. Noble friend, your enemy, had you engag'd your faith 
To any personal meeting, could expect you 
But at the minute ; reason may dispense, 
Twixt us, with such a nicety. 

Lac, Now your friend 's 
Arriv'd, I must beg licence to depart ; 
I have some urgent business. 

Dor. Good Lactantio, your timers your own. 

Lac. I kiss your lordship's hand. [eofit. 

Fit. Friend, now we're alone, I safely may 
Speak my conjecture ; I have read your looks. 
And, in their pensive characters, find secret 
Strange signs of sadness. 

Dor. I am sad, indeed. 
When my remembrance tells me I have only 
Verbal assurance of your friendship. 

Fit. Try me by any attempt, whose danger does surpass 
The common path of daring ; be't to snatch 
A fiery bolt, when it from heaven comes wrapped 
In sheets of lightning, to afiford true proof 
Of my afifection, and with eager haste. 



26 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Such as inspires a husband to enjoy 
His opouse's yir^n purity, I'll run 
To the achieyement. 

Dor, These are but protests. 
Such as, begot by ceremony, proceed 
Not from intensiye zeal ; yet, I'll experience 
The truth of your affection, by a trial. 
Of such a noble and effective weight. 
Which, if you bravely do support, youll stand 
As some tall pyramid, or column, for 
Your own memorial, to tell after-times 
The power and strength of friendship. 

Vit. Pray, name 't : 
An 'twere a burden would oppress the earth, 
m be the able Atlas to sustain 
Heaven on my willing shoulders. 

Dor. There is a lady. 
In whose each eye sits fire ; and, on her cheek. 
Victorious beauty, captive to her smiles, 
Dances iu lovely triumph ; one who emblems 
The glory of mortality in each look ; 
Contracts the orb of lustre to a glance ; 
Brandishes beams, whose purity dispense 
Light more immaculate than the gorgeous east 
Wears, when the prostrate Indian does adore 
Its rising brightness : yet this wonder doats ^ 
On you, with such inevitable fervour. 
That I, in pity of her sufferings, come 
T' entreat you love her. 

^^ Whom, my lord? 



THE LilOVS PRIVILEOE. 27 

Dwr. You cannot appear so strangely stupid, not f 
acknowledge . 
Creation's miracle, when I point out 
Her very figure : you as well may seem. 
When the bleak north does, with congealing blasts. 
Bind up the crystal streams in chains of ice. 
Not to know winter; ignorant of her. 
Who, had ^he livM when superstitious mists 
Shaded the world, more groves of gums had flam'd 
To her divinest beauty, than to all 
The race of idle deities : 'tis Chrisea, 
The fair Chrisea, loves you ! 

Ft/. The fair Chrisea ? your lordship'fi merry 

Dwr, Do you slight 
What I deliver'd mth that unfeign'd zeal 
That penitents do their prayers ? I say, Chrisea ; 
A name whose every accent sweetlier sounds 
Than choirs of syrens' sense-bereaving notes : 
Chrisea loves you, infinitely above 
Expressive terms, the orators should strive 
To paint her masculine fancy ; and Fm bound 
To pay this homage to her best content, 
As to conjure you, by all sacred ties 
Of honour, amity, and what else may serve 
T' enforce th' endearment, with your noblest love 
To gratify her fancy. 

Vit. No persuasion 
Can make me think this serious. Good, my lord. 
Do you not love Chrisea ? 

Dor, More than a babe does the kind nurse that feeds it 
with her blood ; 



28 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

More than I do my quiet, or the joys 
Of aught but blest eternity. Vitelli, 
No other argument can more convince 
Suspicion, should it doubt my love, but this— 
That, to procure her peace, I have confinM 
The greatness of my passion, and give up . 
To thy dispose a jewel, which the earth 
And sea, should both unlade their hidden wealth. 
Should not have purchased from me. 

Fit, These are arts to puzzle my conceits, my lord. 
I'm no such puny in the craft of love. 
That I want brain to find this drift, which is 
As obvious to me as your eyes ; now you 
Are home retum'd victorious, big with praise. 
Laden with titles that sit heavier on you 
Than your steel corslet in hot fight, contemn 
Affinity with me, to whom you've heard. 
The fair Eurione has resign'd her heart. 
And by this circumvention, should I court 
At your entreaties her sister, might pretend 
A righteous cause for an unjust revolt ; 
For were it otherwise, your temper could not 
Brook your Chrisea's change without a start 
Into a sudden fury. 

Dor. This language I understand not : by my honour, 
friend. 
This iteration may disperse your doubt ; 
I do again conjure you, by all right 
Friendship can challenge in you, to affect 
Chrisea nobly ! — Shall I have your answer ? 

riL Nay, then, my lord. 



THE LADY*S PRIVILEOS. 29 

Since you are serious, freely I resume 
Hie privilege of my liberty ; this body, 
I do confess your captive, and 't has suffered 
An honourable thraldom, but my mind 
Remains unbounded as the cdr or fire 
Are from their spheres : Eurione has won 
By the subduing valour of her looks. 
That in a field of fancy, not of blood : 
And ere another shall usurp her right. 
In the defence 111 die her willing martyr. 

D^r. I judg'd what serious value. 
Your boasted friendship would retun iHhe test. 
Draw your bright weapon ; know, that I do hate 
Baseness as much as cowardice, and since 
You slight a lady for whose priceless love 
Kings might resign their crowns and humbly fall 
Like bare-foot pilgrims, prostrate at the shrine 
Of such a beauty ; sure, if in this sword 
Death has a residence, your life shall find it. 
And not survive to boast the cruel triumph of her refusal. 

Fit, Sir, your sword cannot excite a trembling in my 
blood: 
The glist'ring splendour cherishes my sight 
Like polish'd crystal : henceforth name of friend 
Be no more known betwixt us than a dream ! 
Thus I expire it : — I may now regain 
My honour forfeited in the general cause. 
By this particular combat. 

Dor. Should my fate yield me the conquest, yet his death 
would not 



30 THE LADY*S PRIVILBOE. 

Beget Chrisea's quiet, but augment 

Her grief and hate against me [aside,'] : — stay, fcHrbear !• 

I feel a palsy in my veins, and cannot 

Manage this little instrument of death. 

My sinews put on infancy agun. 

And have no vigour in them. Oh ! Vitelll, 

I am so full of passion, I have scarce 

Room left to vent a sigh : a mine of lead 

Hangs on my heart, and with its yveight has crack'd 

The feeble courage. 

Fit. Noble soul ! his grief 
Works more compunction in me than his sword 
Did sudden anger [aside.'] Could I grant what you 
Request, no brand-mark'd slave should fulfil 
Sooner his master's most severe command 
Than I would yours ; but this abrogates all laws 
Of friendship's duty. If you've vow'd this act, 
You may as safely disannul the oath 
As should you in some desp'rate fury swear 
To be your father's murderer. 

Dor. Bid me first renounce 
My allegiance to my honour, sell the faith 
I owe my native country ; my Vitelli, 
I feel a humour in my brain which strives 
For passage at mine eyes : wilt see me weep ? 
Consider, friend, denying my request, 
Thou do'st undo a lady who may claim 
The privilege of all hearts;— depriv'st the world 
Of such a gem, that should old nature strive 
To frame her second, it would quite exhaust 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEOE. 31 

Her glorious treasury ; — then in her ruin 

My life and honour's forfeited : think this ; 

And were thy heart obdurate as a rock 

Of adamant, this thought, join'd with my tears. 

Would, sooner than the blood of goats, dissolve it 

To gentle softness. 

Fit, Your eyes are moving advocates ; they speak 
Such an o'er-flowing language, that my love, 
Then in its own cause a most partial judge. 
Allows my mercy freedom to pronounce 
Sentence on your side : you have prevailed ; 
ni serve Chrisea as her pleasure shall 
Dispose my will, and fortune. 

Dor. I begin to feel my spirits quicken, and my blood 
Receive its noble temper ; dear Vitelli ! 
Thy nobleness do'st prompt thee to an act 
Shall write thy friendship higher in the lists 
Of sacred amity, than mothers' loves. 
Go to my blest Chrisea ; she expects 
To know by thee the truth of my success ; 
Tell her, I am more happy in her bliss 
Than if I had enjoy'd her constant love. 
So leave me, friend ; I may, perhaps, transgress 
Manhood again ; and should'st thou see me weep 
Twice, thou would'st judge my former flood of tears 
A feigned passion. 

FiV* Your genius guard you ! Thus I apply 
Balm to his wounds, while I do bleeding die. [exit. 



32 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Enter Boniyet. 

Bon. Noble General, I come to gratulate the ha^ppj 
choice 
You've made in fair Chrisea ; she's a lady. 
That, though she were a stranger to my blood. 
My judgment would allow as rich a virtue 
As ever glorify'd the sex. 

Dor. Twould be a sacrilegious error not t' adodt 
Your character for truth ; but, in our loves, 
A thousand hidden causes do produce 
Alternate changes ; my return has settled 
My thoughts on new resolves, and I must suit 
My affections to them. 

Bon. How ? Perhaps, because 
You are retum'd triumphant with your bays 
Growing upon your brow, you do reject 
The love before you su'd for ; 'tis not noble 
So to abase a lady whose bright fame. 
Although untainted as a crystal rock. 
Must pass a popular censure, if you, who 
Did with such earnestness pretend her match. 
Should, on the sudden, scorn it. 

Dor. Vm not bound 
To give you reasons why ; but know, my mind 
(Which your contesting cannot alter,) 's fix'd 
On what I have related. 

Bon. I must then tell you 
You do defame the opinion of that worth 
The world does credit in you ; this affront, 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 33 

Should all her other friends sit idle gazers 
On her disgrace, should stir me to attempt 
An ample satisfaction from your heart. 
Though you had multitudes of greater glories 
Heap'd on your head ; or were defeuc'd with legions 
T' affright me from the adventure. 

Dor. Sir, your courage is juster than your quarrel. 
Do you think 

I wear a sword only for ornament ; 
And though our years declare us equals, yet 
My education was i'the trade of war : 
Tis my profession to infranchise souls 
From prisons of their flesh, and would be loath, 
'Cause you have interest in Chrisea's blood. 
Your passion should betray you to the fury 
Of my incensed wrath. 

Bon. All discourse is tedious to me : sure, the world 's 
abus'd 
With report of your valour. Men who commit 
Afironts they dare not answer, use excuse 
In moderation of them. I expected 
I should have met an adversary in you. 
Of temper hot as lightning, and as bold 
As lions vex'd with hunger; and I find you 
A tame degenerate coward. 

Dor, All respect of love and pity hence ! \they fight. 
Bear up 1 my steel 

Has prick'd your breast — I would not have you dye 
Ohrisea's Martyr. 

Bon. Fve pull'd untimely ruin on me. Pm hurt, 

D 



34 THE LADY*S PRIVILBCHB. 

I fear, to mortal danger : noble General, 
See me conducted to Lactantio's house ! 
There I shall get a surgeon. 
Dar» Noble young man ! 
Muster thy strongest spirits up. I am one 
Of Fortune's pastimes : yesterday, returned. 
Advanced to heaven by the people^s breath ; 
To day, hurFd down into the abyss of death. [eaeunt. 



ACT III. SCENE I. 



UrUer Chrisea and Corimba. 

Chri, Came none yet from the General ? 

Cor. No, insooth. Madam : I protest your sister. 
If she continue in these sudden fits. 
Will so imdo her face that all my art 
Can never rectify 't : she weeps as if 
She might as easily be supplied with eyes 
As with new dressings. I'll be sworn, I took 
As hearty pains to cut a handsome heart, 
(And, though I say't, it was a pretty one 
As e'er was made of tafTety,) to grace her cheek. 
And, never trust me if I lye to you. 
Her tears have wash'd her heart away. 

Chri, Thou'rt still 
In these impertinent discourses. What's the cause 
My sister is so prodigal of her grief 
To let thee see her vent it? 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 35 

Car. Why, Madam, I have seen a lady weep 
besides your sister, and have wept myself too. 
I never shall forget the time — I could 
£'en cry again, to think on't : 'twas at the death 
Of your fine little Jewel ; never lady 
Nurst such a dainty puppy ; but he's gone. 
And farewell he ! I will not give a rush 
For any woman cannot use her eyes 
With as much liberty as her tongue : these fools. 
These loving idiots, men^ for three forc'd drops 
Will mollify like wax, and be made apt 
For any impression. 

Enter Vitelli. 

Chri, Vitelli, you are welcome I I suppose 
Your business has been urgent. We expected 
Your presence sooner : howsoever, now 
'Tis grateful hither. 

Cor, My young lady shall 
Have notice of 's arrival ; so perhaps his sight 
Will cheer her drooping spirits. 

Fit, Madam, my friend 
The General does by me tender his best 
And truest service to you : he has sent me 
Prompt to fulfil the nicest point of duty 
Your pleasure casts upon me. 

Chri, Sir, the General is so just in his proceeding, 
I must ever esteem him truly noble. 
Though I should banish him my affection. 

fit, I could wish 



36 . THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

The sweetness of your Tirtue would vouclisafe 
To lay a reclamation of your love : 
Had you but seen with what ambitious haste. 
With what extreme persuasions, he endeavonr'd 
The satisfaction of your will, you could not 
Fancy a change from one so worthy. 

Chri, No ? not to enjoy yourself? 

Fit. Me— Madam ! 
No equal eye can parallel my poor 
Regardless merit with the glorious worth 
Which does as far transcend mine in desert. 
As 't does in eminence of fortune. 

Chri, Sir, your modesty 
Extenuates your own worthiness to bestow 
A large addition on your friend's : my judgment 
Has balanced both, and has concluded which 
Ought to be held most noble : I do honour 
True constancy in men. Pray tell me. Sir, 
For it concerns me nearly, did you e\rer 
Fervently love my sister ? 

Fit, To include 
All strength of human zeal, as Doria does adore 
Your excellent beauty ; with a heat 
Holy as souls in deepest fancy. 
Their sainted fellows. 

Chri. And can you extinguish 
So great a flame so easily ? Can entreats 
So soon subdue your temper ? If your truth 
Be of this wavering quality, how shall I 
Receive assurance of it ? 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 3? 

Fit. The vow 
I made my friend secures it. Thiak not^ Madam, 
That both my parents with persuasive prayers 
Could have enforced me violate my faith 
To fair Eurione ; but when my friend. 
My honour'd friend, to whom I owe my life 
As tenant to his bounty, did in tears, 
A soldier's tears, whose every drop prevails 
More than a captive princess, plead the loss 
Of his own life, my gratitude did vanquish 
Passion, and forc'd me tear even from my soul 
Eurione's affection. 

Chri. You ^re just 
In your determination. 

Enter Eurione. 

yit. Bless me, friendship ! 
And with thy white wings overshade my heart 1 
Or here descends a Saint will dispossess thee 
Of the accustom'd shrine : a bark enclos'd 
'Twixt two encount'ring tides is not more toss'd 
Than I Hwixt striving passions ; while a friend, 
I cannot be a lover. 

Eur. \^telli, am I in your opinion lost ? my sister 
Relates iso sad a wonder that, if truth, 
I am undone for ever. 

Fit. Hark 1 she speaks too 
A tempting language. Such was our first mother's voice 
While she was innocent : dear ladies, would 
I could divide myself; for, being one. 



38 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

I cannot^ on the theatre of my mind. 

Act both a friend and lover. That two names 

Of so intire affinity should occasion 

So manifest a dissension in a soul 

That would be true, yet is enforced, though loath. 

To forfeit one or to be false to both ! 

Chri, My expectation did not 
Presage this softness in you ; I had thought 
You had come fiirnish'd with a full resolve 
To act your friend's request. 

Fit, Yet I must needs 
Speak in a cause so moving : Madam, think 
How much more noble 'tis in you to save 
Than to destroy ! Behold three bleeding hearts 
Imploring pity from you ! mine, your sister's. 
And your adorer Doria's, which one word 
Of yours would ransom from approaching death. 
Oh, be not sparing of that breath ! 'twill sound 
In the just ears of heaven more sweet than prayers 
Oflfer'd by cloister'd virgins. O, resume 
Your native charity, and fulfil my suit! 
And in requital of that sacred grant. 
Time shall depend like summer on your brow. 
And your whole life be one continued youth : 
Such were the springs in Paradise, and when 
You pass to be a sharer in heaven's bliss. 
Virgins and innocent lovers' spotless tears, 
Harden'd to pearl by the strong heat of sighs. 
Shall be your monument. 

Chri. This whole discourse. 



• THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 39 

Should you enlarge it to a yolume, cannot 

Alter my meanest thought ; I only wish you. 

As you are noble, to respect your honour ; — 

That's all my answer. [e^vit, 

Eur. But do you mean, 
Vitelli, to perform what Doria has enjoin'd you ? 

Fit, I shall melt 
Into a willing pity, if the flame 
Of friendship did not, with its effectual heat. 
Dry up love's moisture. Dear Madam ! he 
That has commanded me this dreadful task 
Claims such a lawful interest in my life. 
That, spite of my affection, I must yield 
To his resistless will : yet I will Idve you 
So far as honour gives me warrant, and 
Wish you, the best of women, the best joys 
Happiness can impart to you. Farewell ! 
*Ti8 a befitting gratitude to give 
That life a being by whose gift I live. [eait. 

Eur, Sorrows flow high, grief unto grief succeeds, 
^Wounds are more dangerous which do inward bleed, [emi* 

SCENE II. 

Enter Adorni and Frangipan. 

Ador. Come, let not this dishearten you ; your French 
Is a thing easily gotten, and, when you have it. 
As hard to shake it off, runs in your blood 
As 'twere your mother language ; but there is 



40 THE LADY^ l>RIVILEOE. 

Anr observation far more necessaryy 

T improve your judgment; still let your discourse 

Concern the foreign business, and be sure 

T* applaud outlandish fashions and take off from 

What is native : as if vou shall hear 

Any commend the Genoa garb or state. 

Answer in France, in Naples, or in Spain, 

No matter where so it be far enough 

From hence, they are more politic, more witty. 

Every way more deserving; this will speak 

Infinitely judicious, when, to praise 

Our own domestic manners, is as if 

A man should praise himself and be accounted 

A self-conceited gull for't. 

Fran. Very good! 
This is a rule 111 put in practice ; I, 
Thanks to my inclination, can speak ill 
Of my own Father, Signer. 

Adar. Signorl still you betray your ignorance; why 
Signer ? 
Monsieur has a far more airy and harmonious sound; 
There's music in the letters : still polish your phrase 
With particles of language, which, 'till I have taught you 
Perfectly, answer with a shrug or nod. 
Or any foreign gesture ; such a silence 
Will be esteem'd for gravity, and become you better 
Than volubility of speech does some 
Whose tongues are gentlemen-ushers to their wits. 
Still going before it ; and when you do speak. 
Let it not be as now you do of news 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 41 

Abroach ten days beforej and quite drunk off. 
But what afiairs are acted then in France ; 
What in the English Court ; and still remember 
T' extol 'em infinitely ; and if any answer 
Comparatively with our own, a serious laughter 
Will not become you ill, to shew how much 
You slight their error. 

Fran Better'still; — Hike 
This slighting humour infinitely ; — ^but how. 
If they^should talk of our Italian dames ; 
I'm bound to be their Champion, for I've heard 
Strangers report, and I hold their opinion. 
Our curtesans excel all other nations. 

Ador, That shew'd those strangers' judgments, and con- 
firm*d 
WhtiX I would have you understand : in England, 
Where public houses are prohibited. 
There are the bravest lasses ; here, some Donsella 
That was, the last night, yours, shall, for two ducats. 
To-morrow be a sailoi*'s; when there. 
Your citizens' wives, girls fresh as air and wholesome 
As precious Candy-^nes, will meet their gamesters 
At a convenient tavern, rob their husbands 
Without a scruple, and supply their friends. 
While the good innocent cuckolds pay a price 
For their own homing. 

Fran, Excellent, excellent ! 
Genoa, I do defy thy costive girls ! 
I'll, henceforth, love these English sparks of gold ; 
Would I were there ; it should go hard, but I 



42 THE LADVS PRIVILEGE. 

Would graft on their Aldermen's cockscombs-* 

j4dor. The/re grafted fast already^ Sir ; besides^ 
They ne'er get children, but their hench-boys on 
Their Serjeants' wives after some city feast. 
When the provoking spirit of white broth, and 
Custard, enflames their blood : what Genoa Burgess 
Dares be so boldly courag'd ? I'll tell you ; 
And mark how base and sordid it appears 
To have our cellars stuffd with Corsic wines 1 
Yet, for this foolish sin call'd Temperance, 
Tantalize and ne'er taste it, while your Dutch, 
Your noble-spirited German, will carouse 
A score of goblets to provoke his stomach 
To 's bread and butter ; do nothing but by discreet 
Counsel of drink ; not match his daughter to 
A man he sees not drunk first ; scarce say 's prayers 
Till he be full of liquor, which enflames 
The mind to generous actions. 
Fran. I commend 'em, and will be glad to imitate. 
j4dor. Your English 
Deserves as large applause, who, to say truth. 
Out-drinks the Dutch ; as, in the common proverb, . 
The Dutchman drinks his buttons off, — the English 
Doublet and all away. Then mark their carriage : 
If two fall out, and strike, and be by company 
Parted, though one wears in his face the badge 
Of his dishonour, which excites him to 
As brave revenge, naught daunts him, for he'll straight 
Call out his enemy to a single duel. 
Scorning his life, contemning the land's laws. 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 43 

Which do forbid those combats, and ne'er part 
Till one be slain, and the survivor sure 
As death to hang for't. 

Fran, Excellent ! I love a man that cares not for hang- 
ing. 

j4dor. Then, to their further glory, which takes off 
All the disgrace of halter, they are sure, 
'Ere they be scarce cold, to be chronicled 
In excellent new ballads, which, being sung 
I'th' streets, 'mong boys and g[irls, colliers and carmen, • 
Are bought as great memorials of their fames. 
Which, to perpetuate, they are commornly stuck up 
With as great triumph in the tippling houses. 
As they were 'scutcheons. 

Fran. Better yet. I'd give 
A hundred ducats to be chronicled 
In such a historical canto. Who composes them ? 

^dor. They have their special poets for that purpose ; 
Such as still drink small beer, and are so apt 
To spit out lamentable stuff. Then, for their cloathes. 
They have a cut domestic, but imitate 
The French precisely : gallants wear their long 
Parisian breeches with five points at knees. 
Whose tags concurring with their harmonious spurs. 
Afford rare music : then have they doublets 
So short i'th' waist, they seem as 't^vere begot 
Upon their doublets by their Cloaks, which, to save stuff. 
Are but a year's growth longer than their skirts ; 
And all this magazine of device is fumish'd 
By your French taylor. What country man is yours ? 



44 THE LADY'S PRIVILEOE 

/VvM. A Genoese. 

Adw. Fie 1 change lum» Monsieur. 
You have heard a Spanish Count 's 

Lately arriy'd without any advice. How M you salute 
him? 

Fran. Thus» Sir» after our Italian fasMon. 

Adar, lliat's too vulgar : 
You must accost him thus, with a state face. 
As if your beard had been tum'd up that morning 
By advice of all the barbers in the city; 
As you had dress'd you in a looking glass. 
Proper to none but the Duke's privy counsellors ; 
Pronounce your Beio los manas with a grace 
As if you were the son and heir apparent 
To th' Adelantado of Castile. 

Enter Lactantio. 

Lac. Adomi, this is no time for mirth : 
Your noble General has slun Lord Bonivet, 
And for the act is a prisoner. 

Ador. Dares the State bereave him of his liberty. 
Without whose most unwearied valour 
It had been betray'd to slavery ? 

Lac, You know Lord Bonivet's alliance to the Duke ? 

Adar, Alliance ! death ! a thousand Bonivets 
And Dukes and States weigh not 
A scruple, pois'd with his full worth ! 

JUtc. He's to be tried i'th' morning, without noise. 
For fear of mutiny ; and, 'tis suppos'd. 
That if some virgin lady do not claim 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 45 

Her privilege, and beg his life, he'll suffer. 

Fran, If the maid that begs must be above fifteen, 'tis 
shrewdly doubted where she'll be found. 

^dar. All our virgins ought, if they have virtue, to con- 
tend for such a glory ; but if all be squeamish, may all the 
daughters of our best burghers run away >vith soldiers, and 
become sutlers* wives ! 

Fran, Or else, when they have a masculine itch upon 
'em, and would taste man, may they be wed to eunuchs ! 

Lac, Else be forc'd to keep their maidenheads till they 
be musty, and not merchantable to younger brothers, with 
additions of wealthy portions ! 

Fran. May they, when they would strive to mend their 
faces to allure a suitor, want paint and black patches, to 
stop the crannies of their cheeks ! May their pomatum be 
mixM with hogs' grease, that they may be abominable 
even in the nose of Jews ! May the green sickness reign in 
their bloods : and may they be debarred of oat-meal and 
clay wall, and fall to ratsbane ! 

j4dor. May their parents turn most precise precisians, 
and forbid e'en the sight of plays, or may they never dance, 
unless it be to a bag-pipe or a crowd ! 

Fran. May they want silks for gowns; and if they seek 
supply from Naples, let them, instead, be furnisH'd with 
their disease ! may milliners break, and feather-men ! 
may my aimt die suddenly, and bury with her all her 
devices ! may there be no earth found to make looking 
glasses, that they come to use of kitchen wenches, dress 
their heads by the reflection of a pail of water, or in a pew- 
ter chamber vessel ! 



46 THE LADVS PRIVILEGE. 

Adar, Lactantio, let's go wut the Greneral 
In prison ; 't would be base should we negleet him in 
His extremity. {e^feuni. 



SCENE III. 

Enter Doria and Sabelli. 

Dwr, Is it confirm'd^ he's dead ? 

Sab. The general voice 
Divulges so i'th' city, and the Duke 
Has sent an order, which commands you. forth 
I'th' morning to your trial. My dear lord, 
I hope the service you have done the State 
Abroad, will, here at home, secure your life 
From the law's violent rigour. 

Dor. Yes, poor boy. 
If thou might'st be thy master's judge. Sabelli, 
I am at the period of my fate, and would not 
Have thee a sad spectator of my fall 
At home, whom thou so oft hast waited on. 
Abroad, in triumph ; therefore, gentle heart, 
Return home to thy mother, and survive 
To serve a happier master 

Sab. My noble lord. 
Have I so often followed you when death 
Attended on each step, when every hurt 
That scar'd your noble body I have wish'd 
Imprinted on my flesh, and with my tears 



THB LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 47 

Even drown'd the purple deluge of your woun49. 

That, as my truth and loyalty's reward, 

I must be tum'd away unkindly, when 

My last and justest service might declare 

My zeal to you, my master. Oh, Sir, 

You more afBict my innocence with these words 

Than if sad truth had brought me the report 

Of my own mother's funeral : and should you 

Enforce me leave you, the succeeding care 

And labour of my life should be consumed 

In a perpetual weeping. 

Dor. Good Sabelli I 
Cease this afBicting language, lest I grow as 
Childish as- thyself, and burst into tears. 
To bear thee company. 

Sah, Besides, my lord. 
When your blest soul does on immortal wings 
Arrive at heaven, who shall attend it there \ The 
Saints and angels will esteem themselves 
Worthy to be your fellows, while my poor 
And humble ghost would reckon it a bliss 
To wait on you as carefully as when 
We liv'd on earth together. Dear my lord, 
LfCt me dye with you ; death and I have been 
Play-fellows these many years, he'U only bring me 
To rest as pleasing to my sense as sleep 
After a tedious watching. 

Dwr. This kind passion shakes, my 
Most masculine temper. Sabelli, 



48 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Accept this gold, these jewels, as the last 

Gift of thy perishing lord. Thou shalt accept 'em. 

If the law do not pass upon my life 

Pll send for thee again. I pr'ythee,. leave me ; 

I would be private ; and thy presence does 

Disturb my serious thoughts. 

Sab, Nay, then, 'tis for 
Me, the wretched'st soul on earth, to take 
My lasting farewell of you. All the joys* 
Of blest eternity^ instead of my 
Desertless service, wait upon your life ; 
You ne*er shall view your boy again; for sure, if your 
Light be extinguishM, my weak flame 
Cannot continue burning. Give me licence * 
To kiss your honour'd hand, and to let fall 
A parting drop or two ; — and now, farewell 
For ever, noble lord ! that grief appears most true 
That's writ in blood as well as tears. [emt. 

Dor. Poor boy ! I have not yet descrv'd so ill. 
But my untimely fate excites some pity. 

Enter Adorn i, Lactantio, and Frangipan. 

Adomi, thou art come to see the last 
And greatest of thy General's actions, 
Which, like a cunning and well managed scene, 
Not till the period will disclose the plot 
Of my life's tragedy. 

Ador. Your life, my lord! 
Death dare not venture to invade it ; and 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 49 

The State as soon will call the enemy 
Into their city, as pretend the least 
Danger to their supporting column, which. 
Should it but shake, it might dismantle their 
Best bulwarks, burn their navy, and surrender 
Themselves to present slavery. 

Lac, The Duke, 
Though he did hold his kinsman dear, will value 
The public good before his private ruin. 

Fran, Let the Duke do his worst, and all the State 
Stand on punctilios. I can fetch a lady 
Of excellent quality, shall beg your lordship: 
I'll make her do't. 

Ador, Nay, should all fail you, sir ; 
Should the State's anger and the Duke's partial sentence. 
The peoples' malice bandy to surprise 
The treasure of your life, know, you have friends 
Would fix the heads of half the town upon 
Their lances' points, 'ere your least drop of blood 
Should be diminished. 

Dor, Gentlemen, I thank you [for] 
All your loves ; but know, the shape of death 
Is not [so] ugly to me, but if justice 
Contract me to the monster, I shall court it 
As 'twere some beauteous bride, and thank the axe. 
That, like the priest, unites me to a spouse 
That will not play the woman, and revolt. 
Come, gentlemen, let's in : brave souls do hate 
To be dejected by the force of fate. \exeunt. 



50 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 



ACT IV. SCENE I. 
Enter Chrisea, Eurione, and Vitelli. 

Chri. I am very sorry that his fate has cast 
Such a disastrous chance upon his life ; 
But his desert will blunt the edge of justice. 
And mitigate the severity which would 
Question the safety of his life. 

F'ii. 'Tis in your mercy 
To dash the law's proceedings^ gracious madam ! 
The privilege that our country gives your sex 
Can hope for no employment that will raise 
A greater trophy to your fame than this, — 
To ransom him whose constancy and truth 
Exceeds all boast of stories. 

Eur. You'll redeem 
The opinion of your piety, which scandal. 
Should you omit this just and righteous task. 
Would blast with blackest infamy. 

Chri. Yuu plead in your own cause, not his. 'T doe^^» «es 
not beseem 
My modesty to interpose myself 
In that which nought concerns me. 

Vit. Is his life 
Of such a trivial value in your thoughts. 
That you esteem't not worthy your intreats 
To save't from killing ruiu^? Sacred love ! 
Thou miracle of nature, and delight 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 61 

Of all who know humanity^ with some 

Religious arrow pierce her flinty breast 1 

Some pious shaft, on whose subduing point 

Pity and amorous softness gently sit, 

Heduce this straying schismatic to the first 

Unspotted pureness of her constant faith, 

^nd we will pay a thousand clouds of sighs 

As incense to thy altars. 
Eur, OflFer up 

JMyriads of virgin vows, and, with our tears, 

^Extinguish all irregular flames that taint 

Thy holy fires 1 

nt. Oh, Madam ! 
What heart so barbarous does not, at love's smiles. 
Put off its native fierceness : beasts with beasts 
Observe his laws ; the lion, whose big breath 
Affrights the trembling people of the woods. 
Were his hoarse accents to be understood. 
They would appear to be affection's groans. 
The nightingale, that on lascivious wings 
Flies from the poplar to the trembling beech. 
And on each bough chaunts melancholy notes, 
Had he a human utterance, would proclaim 
Those pensive strains the music of his love. 
And can ye be less sensible of a power. 
That is so great, than creatures barr'd the use 
Of sacred reason and discourse ? 

ChrL This is to seek to pacify the sea 
With tears. Vitelli, you mistake ; your friend 
Values not at so dear a rate his life 



52 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

As to receive a being tributary 

To my unask'd intreats : besides^ I should 

Envy the State's prerogative, whose mercy 

Is* in remitting his unwilling fault. 

But a becoming thankfulness ; and should 

Be censur'd as too partial to my own 

Affection, should I strive to be his wife. 

Whose hand is purpled with the innocent blood 

Of my late murder'd kinsman. 

Eur. This concerns 
As nearly me as you, but by just truth. 
Though I'm engaged by my particular choice 
To my Vitelli, were I sure the General 
Would not contemn my offer, and so blast 
My future fame, I would disclaim all ties 
Of former fancy and implore his safety. 

Vit, This is a sweetness 
Which I could wish you. What has begot 
This strange desertion of your faith ? True love. 
Being once received into the soul, converts 
Into its very essence,— does become 
The same eternal substance ; — can you, then. 
Tear from the tender cabinet of your breast 
Your very heart ? This cruelty exceeds 
The depth of tyranny : but rest assured. 
If Doria suffer by your proud contempt 
Vm freed then from my promise, and will sooner 
Warm an empoisoning scorpion in my arms 
Than yield my meanest thought to you, who are. 
By evident circumstance, though not by fact. 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 63 

My friend the General's murd'ress. 

CM. This, Vitelli, 
Is not a means to win me to your friend, 
fiut more avert me from him : it inflames 
IVIy mind vrith holier fire to court your love. 
Inhere is an evident beauty in your soul, 
Squal to truest honour. I will cherish 
*]?his bravery in you. If your masculine fancy 
£ngages you thus constant to a friend, 
^oull be a loyal husband. Fare you well ! 
fie still thus noble, and be happy ! [emt. 

Eur, My sister 

Has lost all sense of pity. Dear Vitelli ! 

There is no wretchedness oppressing, earth 

Equal to ours. Love thus the tyrant plays. 

Afflicting innocence by unusual ways. [exeunt. 



SCENE II. 

Enter Uo^iAf as a prisoner, Lactantio, and Adorni; to them, 
Trivulci, Senators, Officers, and Attendants. 

j4dor. Us like yourself, my noble lord ; but see. 
The Duke approaching. Let your soul expect 
An equal hearing. 

OJi, Bear back ! room for the Duke and Senate ! What 
cuckold 's that would have his coxcomb broke ? bear back 
there ! 

Triv. Cite in the prisoner I 

OJi^ He's here, my lord. 



64 THE LADY'S PRIVILEOE. 

Tri. Pm sorry that 
Vou, for whose head the gratitude of the State 
Decreed triumphant bays, should be enforc'd 
To stand here a delinquent ; but the law 
Must, as a straight and uncorrupted stream, 
Enjoy its usual freedom. My lords. 
We are not met here to arraign a prisoner 
Whose guilt does speak his sentence, but a person. 
Not only most unblemish'd in his fame. 
But one to whom our country owes its life ; 
Who, with his dearest blood, has balm'd the wounds 
Which mischiefs giant-offspring, razing war. 
Cut in the bosom of the common-wealth. 

Sen. We all confess his worth. 

Tri. Yet this brave youth — 
This patron of our liberty ; all his honours. 
His blood and titles, his defensive bays. 
That would have guarded his victorious front 
From blasts of lightning, laid aside ; is come 
To tender satisfaction to the laws 
He has offended ; and since judgment is 
Th' immediate act of justice, it must pass. 
To save impartial censure, on his life. 
As on the wretch'dst malefactor's ; for 
His former merits cannot take away 
His present fault j for whoe'er is guilty 
Undoes the privilege of his desert and blood. 
For if great men, offending, pass unpunish'd. 
The common people, who do use to sin 
By their example, fearless will run on 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 66 

Into licentious mckedness. 

Sen. Your grace delivers 
The intention of the State ; no oracle 
Could have explained the meaning of our laws 
With more integrity. 

Tri. Yet, my good lords, 
I speak not this, that my particular vengeance. 
Because he slew my kinsman, has the least 
Aim at his life, which I would strive to cherish, 
, As my own health, or as the city's peace ; 
For magistrates ought to behold their crimes. 
Not the committers, as the poets feign. 
Of wise Tiresias, to want eyes and only 
Have seeing understanding ; for a judge 
Is guilty of the fault he does not punish. 
And if reward and triumphs do adorn 
Deserts, 'tis just that shame and punishments 
Should wait on vices ; and, how much more worthy 
The person is, that acts them, so far sharper 
Should be the penalty inflicted on him. 

Sen, And when the law 
Uses its utmost rigour, 'tis the crime 
And not the man it sentences. 

Tri. In brief. 
We must decline his merit and forget 
Our gratitude : and since his hand is dipt 
In civil blood, his life must expiate what 
His arm unfortunately committed. 

Dor. My lords. 
The services which I have done the State 



56 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Were but my natural duty; I atcbieved 'em 
To gain me fame and glory, and you safety ; and 
Should esteem tbem traitors to honour, if their interces- 
sion 
Be a protection for my crimes : I mean not 
To plead to save a dis-respected life, 
'Cause I fear death : a sea-incompass'd rock 
Is not less timorous of th' assaulting waves. 
Than I of the grim monster; but there is 
A fame surviving which I would be loath 
Should teU posterity I tamely jdedled 
My head to the axe/ and died, because my spirit 
Durst not desire to live : to quit this scandal, 
I hope, what I can urge in my defence 
Shall have indifierent hearing. 
TVt. Speak freely. 
Dor. Know then, my intention 
Is not by excuse to extenuate my fact. 
Which I confess most horrid, and would pay 
A thousand showers of sorrow could this hand 
Re-edify that goodly frame of flesh 
Which it demolished ; but my priceless fame. 
In whose dear cause, I slew him, will to justice 
Boldly proclaim, I did no more than what. 
The truth I owe my reputation tells me. 
Was right in point of honour. 

Tri. But the law 
Does disallow it, as unjust, and that 
Must be your judge ; and not that idle breath 
Which you abusively term honour. 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 67 

Dor. Your laws cannot, without partiality, pronounce 
Judgment ai^ainst me, for they do acquit 
That man of guilt that, to defend his life. 
Is forc*d to slay his enemy ; my act 
Carries the same condition : since my fame. 
Whose safety urg'd me to kill him, is my life. 
My immortal life, as far transcending this 
As the soul does the body; for the sword 
Returns that to its primitive matter, dust ; 
And there it rests, forgotten ; but a wound 
Struck upon reputation leaves a brand, 
(So self-difirisive is dishonour's guilt,) ^ 

Even to posterity, and does revive 
After 't has suffered martyrdom. 

Sen, Yet, this 
Cannot excuse your fact ; for civil reason 
AUows a reparation for the loss 
Of fame, but g^ves no man a lawful licence 
To snatch the privilege from the hands of justice. 

Which would dispose it equally. 
Dor. This strictness destroys aU 

Right of manhood, since a coward 

May, fearlessly relying on this sufirage 

Of law, affront even valour's self : consider 

That the most cunning pilot cannot steer man's 

Brittle vessel 'twixt these dangerous rocks 

Of law and honour safely ; sail by this. 

But on that suffer shipwreck : for, suppose 

I had with patience borne this scandalous name 

Of a degenerate coward, I not only had 



58 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Nipp'd the budding valour of my youth. 

As with a killing frost, but left a shame inherent 

To our family ; disgraced 

My noble father's memory ; defamed. 

Nay, cowarded my ancestors, whose dust 

Would have broke through the marble, to revenge 

On me this fatal infamy. 

Ador. Well urg'd; and resolutely. 

Dor. Nay, more : yourselves. 
That hate the deed being done, would have detested 
The doer worse had it not been performed ; 
Withdrawn my charge in the army, as from one. 
Protested for a coward ; I might then 
Have abjur'd the trade of war, in which I have been 

nurs'd. 
Yet, for preserving this unvalued gem 
Of precious honour, that hangs on my soul 
Like a well-polish'd jewel in the ear 
Of the exactest beauty, must I suffer 
The laws' stern rigour. 

Tri. Sir, I could refute. 
With circumstance, your wrong opinion i but, in brief. 
Religious conscience utterly disclaims 
An act so barbarous : to take man's life 
Is to destroy Heaven's image ; and if those 
Are held as traitors, and the law inflicts 
Severest tortures on them who deface 
The stamps of princes on their coin, can they appear 
As guiltless, whose rude hands disgrace 
The great Creator's image, and commit 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 69 

Treason 'gainst awful Nature. Oh ! my lord. 
Collect your serious temper, and put oflT 
The over-weaning fantasies of youth ; 
Consider what a vain deluding breath 
Is reputation, if compared with life : 
Think, that anidle or detracting word 
May, by a fair submission, which our laws 
Of honour do require and will enforce^ 
Be wash'd away ; but the red guilt of blood 
Sticks, as a black infection, to the soul. 
That, like an iEthiop, cannot be wash'd white : 
Think upon this, and know, I must, with grief. 
Pronounce your fatal sentence. 

A shout within. Enter Corimba and Frangipan. 

Fran. Do you hear. General? PU tell you news: you 
were in jeopardy to have had your little weason slit, but I 
pronounce the happy word ; be safe ! 
This piece of beauty. 
By my persuasions, does intend to take 
The edge of law off, and become your wife 
True and inseparable. 

Cor, With reverence to this presence, my good lords. 
Know, that I come not urg'd by heat of youth. 

Fran. Tis true ; Pll bear her witness. 

Cor. Or any wanton or unchaste desire. 
To beg this gentleman for my husband; neither 
To raise myself a fortune by the match ; 
But, mov'd in charity, and provok'd in mind, 
With pity, to behold a man so proper. 



fK) THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Brouf(ht to an end untimely, by a death 
So scandalouB to honour as the axe, 
I come to crave our privilege, and desire him 
For my most lawful husband. 

7W. Gentle maid, 
Vour piety does prompt you to an act 
lliat shall engage your country to erect 
A statue to your memory. Though I could not 
Dispense with justice, yet, since there's a means 
Without the law's infringement, to preserve him, 
I do rejoice as much as if my son 
Had scap'd apparent danger : go on, and prosper 
In your design. 

Dor, Do you think, because I pleaded 
For my honour's life, 
I doat so much upon this idk breath 
As to preserve 't with infamy ? Dispose 
This womanish privilege to submissive slaves ! 
Know, that I hate a being that depends 
Upon another's bounty more than death. 
At which my soul does, like an eagle, stretch its 
Silver wings, and, o'er the monster's head. 
Will make flight at heaven : pray, sir, proceed 
To judgment suddenly ; delay begets 
More tortures in me than your sentence. 

Cor, What do you mean, sir ? pray, let me under- 
stand you better : look upon me ; I am no woman to be 
slighted. 

Fran. She's not asham'd to shew her face ; marry her, 
uncle, that I may call you so. 



THE LADY»S PRIVILEGE. 61 

Sen, To wed this figure^ is a far greater puniHbment than 
Death. 

Ador. Ne'er stand on terms, but marry her, and free your- 
self : and trust to me, you shall not want a mistress that 
has better colours in her face. 

Dor. Corimba, 
I'm much engaged to your officious haste. 
And pay you many thanks : conceive not that 
I do contemn your person, or dislike 
The meanness of your match ; for were your beauty 
Created for a miracle, and adom'd 
With the addition of a fortune ampler 
Than that perfection, I should craye a licence 
To tell your modesty, I am prepared 
Rather for death than nuptials ; and no strength 
Of prayers and beauty shall have power to tempt me 
From my fix'd resolution. 

Tri. This is madness, not courage, Doria. 

Car. Sir, I must tell you, you know not how to use a 
woman rightly : 
Perhaps 'tis bashfulness ; take courage, sir : 
I have reserv'd my dear virginity 
This fifty years for such a pious purpose. 
And slTould you slight me now I should forswear 
Good purposes hereafter. Gentlemen, persuade him : 
Sure he cannot chuse but melt 
At your entreaties. 

7>i. Will you then pull your ruin on, that seeks 
Thus easily to fly from you ? Justice calls 



62 ^ THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

On me to give your sentence : — 

Recorders; — enter Vitelli, and Sabelli as a Lady, Virgins, Sfc. 

new interruptions I 
It is the voice of music, and presages 
An omen as harmonious as its notes. 
Approach, fair troop of Virgins 1 here's a subject 
Fit for your maiden pity. 

Cor. Tis time for me to take my farewell : these may be 
beauties ; perhaps my lady may be one. Adieu, sir ; you 
may be oflfer'd worse. [ea?. Corimba and Frangipan. 

Sab. My honoured lord. 
The charity I owe my native country, 
That, in the ruin of this brave young man. 
Would su£fer infinitely, has forc'd us strive. 
With early zeal, first to present our duties 
For his redemption, ^mong ten thousand virgins 
That would attempt it ; and my true affection 
Has won this favour from my fellows, that 
To me they yield their interest, which I claim 
As my desir'd prerogative. 

Tri. *Tis an act the State will thank you for : unveil 
yourself. 
That we may know to whom we owe our gratitude. 
.A most excelling beauty! such an eye 
Would tempt religious coldness to a flame. 
Thaw age's chilly frost : at such a cheek. 
The Spring might take a pattern to create 
A most accomplished freshness; in her looks 
Are modest signs of innocence, such as saints 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 63 

Wear in their Hveliest counterfeits. Doria, hear — 
A lady begs you ; whom, if you refuse. 
The times would black you with the hateful title 
Of your own wilful murd'rer : take her to you. 
And live a fortunate husband. 

Dor. Noble maid ! my misery is so extreme a sin. 
It cannot meet your bounty without breach 
Of vows, which, should I violate, would pull 
Eternal torments on me : keep your beauty 
For one whose soul, free as the air he breathes. 
Can yield a mutual fancy to your flame. 
And not destroy his honour for your goodness ; 
Since my expired date cannot yjield you thanks 
Worthy the boundless merit of your love. 
If there can be a gratitude after death 
Express'd by prayers, my soul in heav'n shall pay it 
To your kind charity. 

Sah, O, my lord ! 
I did expect this answer ; my poor worth 
Cannot deserve your value j yet there Is 
A constant purity in my thoughts, that intend you 
80 much of bliss, that had your safety no 
Dependence on my suit, it would be deem'd 
Most cruel to contemn me. I have lov'd you 
These many years ; wish'd you as many glories 
As I have numbered days ; have vow'd I never 
Will marry any man but your blest self, my lord : 
Should you neglect the justness of my request. 
Besides the danger waiting on your life, r 

A thousand virgins, whose unspotted prayers, 



64 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Like hosts of /guardian angels, would hUve borne 
You on their wings to heaven, will, for my sake. 
Convert their zeal to curses, and, in tears 
Of anguish, drown your memory. 

Vit, Why, friend, this is 
Such an o'er-weening passion as does question 
The soundness of your judgment, fills the world 
With a conceit you die, because your fears 
Dare not accept of life. Besides, your mistress. 
To whom you would so strictly keep your £edth. 
Does so much scorn your constancy, that no 
Entreats could move her pity imdertake 
This honourable employment. 

7>f. Do It with speedy diligence. 

Dw, Her causeless frailty 
Shall more confirm my truth. 
My noble lord, pronounce 
My happy sentence ; 'twill be welcome to me 

ErUer Priest and Executioner. 

As charming harmony, and swell my breast 
With more than human pleasure. 
TVi. Are you come ? approach : 
Behold this executioner, and this priest ! 
This is to wed you to destruction — that, 
To this rich mine of purity ; your choice 
May accept either. If you fix on this. 
Besides your own redemption, you enjoy 
A lady who may claim as many hearts 
As she has virtuous thoughts ; but lean to that. 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 65 

^our Spring returns uppitied to the rude 
^rms of perpetual winter, that will freeze you 
To a ne'er-melting icicle : be sudden, 
And wise, in your election. 

Dor. Tis but vain : a saint may sooner be overcome to 
sell 
His native piety. Come, thou grim man ; 
Thou art to me more lovely than the face of perfect 
Beauty. Do thy office ; it will free me 
From these perplexities. 

Sah. Well, my lord. 
Since Pm imworthy to enjoy in life 
Your fur society, my soul shall haste 
To wait on you to death ; there is no bliss 
Without your presence : since you will not have 
Mercy on your own life, by your example 
I'll be as harsh to mine. Ill go 
Before you to the other world. 
And be your lov'd ghost's harbinger. 

[Sabelli attempts to stab himself, 

7W. Hold, hold the lady ! 

Sab. Let no hand presume to seize me ; 
For the meanest touch that shall 
Endeavour to prevent my will. 
Shall urge my speedier ruin. Good, my lord, 
Shall I have answer? I would fain be going 
On my long j oumey. 

Dw, I'm confounded 
In wf imagination. I must yield. 
You have enforced a benefit upon me, I 



66 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Can hardly thank you for : yet I will try 
To love you as my wife. — ^That I were lost 
In clouds of black forgetfulness ! 

Tri. My lord. 
Your pardon's seal'd as soon as by the priest 
You are conjoined in marriage : 
rU not leave you 

Till 't be solemniz'd. Hymen, light thy pine ; 
Death's tapers fade at the clear flame of thine ! [eaeunt. 



ACT V. SCENE I. 



Unter Trivulci, Doria, Sabelli, Adorni, Priest, and 

Virgins. 

Tri. Is the priest prepar'd 
For his hymn after nuptials, and the virgins 
Ready to gratulate the bride and bridegroom 
With the appointed dance ? 

^dor. The priest, I think. 
Has the song perfect ; but it is a question 
Among the wisest, whether in the city 
There be seven virgins to be found, to furnish 
The dance as 't should be ; but you must accept them 
With all their faults. This music speaks their entrance. 

Recorders. — Enter Virgins. 

* Song, 

Triumph appear ! Hymen invites 

Thee to wait upon his feast : 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 67 

Mix thy joys with his delights, 
'Tis the General is chief guest. 
Bid the drum not leave to teach 
The soldier's fainting heart to beat : 
Nor war's loud music, cannon, cease 
Breasts with deathful fire to heat. 

Thy waving ensigns in the air display ! 

The General lives, 'tis triumph's holiday ! 
Come, bright virtues, that reside 
In heav'n as in your proper sphere : 
Though all contain'd in the fair bride. 
Chastity, do thou first appear 
With Temperance and innocent Grace ! 
Rose-colour'd Modesty aud Truth 
Dance harmless measures in this place. 
With health and a perpetual youth, 

And all your virgin trophies bring away 

To grace these nuptials ! Triumph's holiday ! 

A dance, 

Tri. You have our hearty thanks, and we shall study 
To give you fair requital. Come, my lord ! 
Erect your drowsy spirits ; let your soul 
Dance airy measures in your jocund breast. 
This is a day on which each bridegroom ought 
To wear no earth about him : air and fire 
Are Hymen's proper elements. Your mirth 
Ought to infuse into your frolic guests 
An humour apt for revelling and sport ; 
Your disposition is more dull than if 
You were to be chief mourner at a corpse : 



6S THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

For shame I shake off this sadness 1 

Ador. It becomes you^ to say truth, scurvily. 
I do not like it : 

You look as if you'd lost some victory. 
Of which your hope had an assurance. 
Shall I tell your lordship 
A very pleasant story? 

Enter Vitelli. 

Dor. It must be, if it be delightful to me, a discourse 
Of some quick means to free me from this cruel 
Oppressive weight of flesh, which does entomb 
My martyr'd soul, that, like to.sulphury fire. 
Hid in a mountain's entrails, strives to burst 
The prison, and fly upwards. It must needs 
Be a sad wedding, when the bridegroom wears 
His nuptial livery on his eyes, in tears. 

Pit. Friend, this is . . 

A passion too effeminate for a heart 
Endued with manly courage : things past help 
Should be past thought : your sadness casts a cloud 
Upon the lustre of this lady's looks ; 
You make her dim the brightness of her eyes 
With unbecoming tears, if you continue 
This strange distraction. 

Sab. Alas, my lord ! 
Let me participate your cause of sorrow, 
And be a willing partner in your grief. 
Which, like a violent current that overflows 
The neighbouring fields and meadows in its rage. 



THE tADY'S PRIVILEGE. 69 

Into two streams divided^ smoothly runs. 
Kissing, vriih calm lips, the imprisoning banks. 
Would, though too mighty ft r you, when my soul 
Should vent a part of it, be mild, and pass 
Away without disturbance of your peace ; 
Which, to procure, I >vould even burst my heart. 
With sighs devoted to your quiet, and 
Become a loving fountain by my tears 
I shed without intermission. 

Dor, Gentle lady, 
I am at such an enmity with fate 
Makes me incapable of ought but grief ; 
But I shall study to declare how much 
I am indebted to your care. 

* 

Enter Eurione, Chrisca, Corimba, and Lactantio. 

Good heaven ! 
Send down some angel to protect my heart. 
Or my religion will scarce stay my hand 
For acting wilful violence on my life ! 
I have suck'd poison from her eyes, that will> 
Like to juice of hemlock, drown my soul 
In a forgetful lethargy, or oppress 
My temperate faculties with madness. 

Tri Cousin, you're welcome ! Know this virtuous lady 
Who has redeemed the General. 

ChrL Sir, I'm come to gratulate your beauteous bride. 
And wish you joys immortal. 

Sab. I hope, madam, my innocence has giv'n you no 
offence. 



70 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

That you refuse me, being a stranger to you. 
The ceremonious wishes which pertain 
To new-made brides, and only do confer them 
Upon my lord. 

ChrL Your happiness already 
Is so superlative, 1 cannot think 
A new addition to it. You enjoy 
The very sum of fortune, in your match 
To such a noble and illustrious husband j — 
I no longer can hold my passion in; 
These walls of flesh are not of 
Strength sufficient to contain 
My big swoln heart. My lords, behold a creature 
So infinitely wetched, I deserve not 
The meanest show of pity, who have, like 
A silly merchant, trifled away a gem. 
The darling of the quarry, lost a love 
By my too foolish niceness, to r^ain 
Whose forfeiture I would lay down my life : 
But he is gone for ever, and I left 
A piteous spectacle for the reproach 
And scorn of wiser women. 

Eur. Is this possible? 
Was all her passion to Vitelli feign'd ? 
My hopes recover life again. 

Tru Why, Chrisea, 
Whence springs this passionate fury ? 

Chri. Oh ! my lord, 
When you shall hear it, you will sigh for mc. 
And shed a charitable tear, at thought 







THE LADY'S- PRIVILEGE. 71 

Of my unkind disaster: Sir, [^To Doria.] my justice 

Cannot accuse your constancy, which stood. 

In the first trial of your love, as fast 

And spotless as an alabaster rock. 

That had it but persisted in that height 

Of honourable loyalty, your glory 

Had been advanc'd to heaven as the fix'd star 

To guide all lovers through the rough 

Seas of affection. 

Fit, This taxation 
Cannot be just from you, who did enforce 
The sad revolt upon him. 

Dor. Is there in heaven no friendly 
Bolt left, that will strike this frame into 
The centre, and set free a wretch 
So overgrown with misery from life, 
That death would be a comfort above health. 
Or any worldly blessing. May time blot my name out 
Of his book, that such a prodigy 
May not aflfright succession, nor strike. 
Like an overspreading leprosy, upon 
The beauteous face of manhood 1 

ChrL Oh, my lord ! each grief of which 
You're sensible, is mine, and not your 
Torment : every sigh you breathe is an 
Afflicting motion, expired by my vex'd 
Spirit ; and if you could weep, each drop 
Would be my blood, who am the spring 
Of the whole flood of sorrow. O forgive 
The two exceeding honour of my love ! I would 



72 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Have had you for your perfect truth so glorious. 
Your loyalty should not> for 
Preservation of your fame, have needed 
To adopt a statue for its heir, or builded a 
Monumental pyramid — ^but love 
Is oft-times love's undoing. 

TVf. This is such a cunning labyrinth of 
Sorrow, that no clew can lead them out of. 

Dor, It would be 
A great affront to misery, should there live 
A person half so wretched to out-dare 
The strength of my affliction. Methinks, 
Fm-like some aged mountain, that has stood. 
In the sea's watery bosom, thousand shocks 
Of threatening tempests ; yet, by the flattering waves. 
That cling and curl about his stony limbs, . 
Is undermined and ruin'd. I have 'scapM 
War's killing dangers, and, by peaceful love. 
Suffer a strange subversion. Oh, Ghrisea ! 
While I have reason left that can distinguish 
Things with a cool and undistracted sense. 
Let's argue mildly th' unhappy cause 
Of our undoing. 

Eur, Truly, sister, 
'Twas a suspicious rashness I could wish 
You never had attempted. 

Chri. My lord. 
Human condition always censures things 
By their event : my aims have had success 
So strangely hapless, that will blast the truth 



THE LABY'S PRIVILEGE. 73 

Of their intention's purity ; I never 

Harboured the least suspicion of your faith^ 

Which I did strive to perfect by the test. 

As richest gold refin'd and purg'd 

From dross of other baser metals ; and besides 

The trial of your constancy, I meant 

To sound Vitelli's depth, upon whose love 

My sister doted so, that I was loth 

To see her cast the treasure of her heart 

Upon a stranger, of whose constancy 

She had too small assurance. 

Tri. Gentle cousin, 
Your good intents encountered bad success ; 
But I admire, since you must needs have notice 
Of his disaster, that the law would pass 
Upon his life, you did not, to prevent 
All other virgin intercessors, haste 
To pay the early tribute of your love. 

Chri, My wretched fate. 
With a too quick prevention, has o'erthrown 
The justness of my purpose. 
I relied so much upon his nobleness ; I thought 
The ugly horror of a thousand deaths 
Could not have mov'd his temper ; and besides. 
Knowing his mighty courage, I permitted 
The law proceed upon him, that, hereafter. 
He might be sure no merit can appease 
Offended justice ; otherwise I could 
Easily have stopped this mischief. 

7>f. How, Ghrisea? I understand you not. 



74 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Chri. Lady, to quit all scruple that I do wish 
Yours and your lord's succeeding happiness^ Pll offer 
Something as an oblation that shall add 
Peace to your nuptial garland ; see, my lord^ 
My cousin Bonivet lives ! 

Enter Bonivet. 

Tri. Lives ! Lactantio, did not you inform us 
That he was dead, and you had caus'd his body 
To be prepared for funeral ? which occasioned 
The General's sudden trial, because, our custom 
Does not permit the corpse to be entomb'd 
Before the murderer have his sentence. Sir, you shall know 
What 'tis to mock the State thus. 

Lac, Good, my lord. 
Hear but my just excuse I I am so much the fair 
Chrisea's beauty's [servant] ; by such ties, 
Oblig'd to serve her, that I chose to hazard 
The anger of the State, 'ere her displeasure ; 
And do submit me to your gracious censure. 

Chri, I*must confirm't. 
Sir ! it was I who caused him to conceal 
My cousin Bonivet, for the causes which 
I did declare before ; and now, myself 
Having receiv'd a satisfying proof 
Of his aflfection, came resolv'd to clear 
These misty errors, but my cruel fate 
Has, like a sudden storm, which has beat down 
A goodly field of standing corn, even ripe 
For the laborious sickle, crush'd my hopes. 



THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 7^ 

In one sad minute, into nothing. 

Sab, My lord, I owe 
iSuch an obedient duty to your peace. 
That, though my heart does wish to ^Fait on yours 
For ever, since I see betwixt this lady 
And you such firm appearances of love. 
If the law please to allow it, I resign* 
My interest to her, and be fortunate 
To see you two live happy. 

Vit, Since the marriage 
Has not arrived to consummating act, 
I do believe this may be done. 

Tri, Do not delude 
Your favour with vain hopes ; the law cannot 
Dispense with the strict canon; 'tis impossible 
You should be separated ! 

Dor. This happiness 
Was too extremely good to be confirm'd 
To such a wretch as I am : I am like 
One that did dream of a huge mass of wealth. 
And catching at it, grasp'd the fleeting air. 
And, waking, grieves at the delusion. 

Sab, Sir, resume your antient quiet ; the formal 
Love shall not oppose your peace. 1*11 disannul 
The marriage easily ; and, most noble lord. 
Pardon your humble servant I 

[Sabelli throws off his disguise. 

Dor, Sure, this is 
Some apparition to confirm my faith ! 
Speak ! art thou my Sabelli ? 



76 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

Vit. Yes, tis he ; fate would not suffer two such 
Noble souls to be so disunited. Gentle boy ! 
Thy duty to thy master will continue 
Thy name in story as the great example 
Of loyalty in servants. 

Sab. 'Twas the zeal I ought in duty to my master's life 
Hath put me on the attempt ; which^ if he pardon, 
I'm fully satisfied. 

Dor, My joys do with a sudden extacy oppress 
My frail mortality, and I should sink, 
Wer't not for my supporters. My Sabelli, 
Thou hast restored two lovers to their bliss. 
Whose gratitude shall pay to thy desert 
The tribute of their hearts. Dear madam, now 
I hope your scrupulous doubts will remain free 
From any new suspicion. 

Chri, Since I have 'scap'd the danger past, believe [it], 
ril avoid 
The like hereafter. My lord, please you confiiin 
My choice, and let my sister be disposed 
To good Vitelli ; he deserves her. 

TrL Your wishes are fulfilled : 
Cousin Bonivet, welcome to life again I 
You and the General must be friends. 

Dor. Your goodness will pardon my misfortune. 

Bon, And desire to be esteem'd your servant. 

Enter Frangipan. 

Fran. With your leave, gentlemen ! Madam, I have such 
news to tell you, as will tickle your understanding to be- 



THE LADVS PRIVILEGE. 77 

lieve : — the General is married ; and more, Signor Doria, 
Lord Bonivet lives — ^That's lucky news for you. 

Dor. He's here, good Signior Frangipan. 

Fran, My news has ever the worst luck — I must resolve 
to leave it off. 

Ador, But, sir, I have some sudden news to tell you : 
the thousand ducats you contracted to pay me when you 
could understand the French as perfectly as myself, by all 
these lords' indifferent judgment is due on this very minute. 

Fran. This is news indeed ; you do not mean to make a 
gull of me : a figo for a thousand ducats. As I am a gen- 
tleman, I know not French for any thing, not for an ass : 
good, your grace, let me not be abus'd. 

Cor. 'Twas I, my lord, who made the bargsun with him : 
The money is not due until my cousin 
Have French as perfect as himself. 

Dor, He has ; Fll bear him witness ; for Adorni 
Speaks not one true French word. 

Fran. How ! not one true French word ? 

Ador, No, not a word ; you must disburse. 

Fran, Tutor, Pll tell you news ; 
You made a fool of me ; 
I could abuse him horribly. 
If I durst for fear of beating. \(mde, 

Ador, My lord. 
If he will undertake wars, 
Pll quit my bargain. 

Fran. Pll pay it treble first : the name of war 
Has brought an ague on me. 



78 THE LADY'S PRIVILEGE. 

7W. You two agree that : cousins, I rejoice 
To see this happy period of your loves. 
Let's back unto the temple^ that the priest 
May, by his sacred power, unite your hearts. 
Lead to the temple ! [ejpeunt. 



THE END. 



THE EPILOGUE. 



Frangipan. 

Gentlemen, Til tell you news ; the Play is done; 
And he that writ it, betwixt hope and fear. 
Stands pensive in the tyring-house to hear 
Your censures of his Play. Good Gentlemen, 
Let it be kind ! or, otherwise, his pen 
Will write but dully, for he needs must lack. 
If you dispraise % the quick'ning spirit of sack 
To inflame his genius, which you'll ever find 
Devoted to you, if your votes be kind. 



VARIATIONS FROM THE OLD EDITION. 



page. 


Une. 


A 


«7 


17 


9 


33 


91 


4S 


90 


43 


1 


49 


95 


«1 . 


15 


«7 


93 


— 


98 


58 


7 


59 


8 



humour i» lubttituted for honour in the old editioti. 
<Utto ditto 

in you qf ifou 

I introduced 

contowning ••• ••* ••• concoming 

tntUUC ... ... ••• •*• KfflflK 

tnt ... •*• ... ••* *w9 

/bmrlesrip J^arfnittw 

Q%$t ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• 0llu 

m 

Oft ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• §0 

Oflo ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• •' 



LONDON : 

Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch Street. 



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